Eternal Winter
by LD200
Summary: Connor lost when the rest of the androids won. The Amanda AI doesn't stop trying to resume control of his program, leaving his physical autonomy compromised and everyone around him at risk. He seeks help from Kamski, but Kamski has his own ideas. Elsewhere, Hank tries to figure out a solution. A journey of trust, self-sovereignty, and recovery. [Eventual Hankcon.]
1. November 2038

Chapter 1: November 2038

 **NOV 6TH** , 2038

PM **04:34** :52

Hank wanted to say something. He didn't want to say something. There'd been a _reason_ he dropped the subject, dammit.

But it wasn't that simple. A fall from that rooftop would've been lethal. Funny how he suddenly didn't want to die right then. He'd known the second Connor turned towards him that he was gonna be okay. Like it was a foregone conclusion, like he was already safe even though death still tugged at him for another few seconds before Connor's hand caught his.

"Lieutenant?" Connor noticed. Of course he did. "Is it the traffic? I understand that traffic is frustrating to many humans, and I…"

"Not the traffic," Hank muttered, hand hanging open as his wrist rested atop the steering wheel. "Just – I told you to chase him." He saw Connor look down at his lap. "Jesus, I'm not upset. You did everything right, Connor, okay? I guess I'm just wondering why."

"It's not as though I haven't contradicted your orders before. You shouldn't be so surprised."

"Yeah, but those times, it was because you were abiding by your mission or whatever, wasn't it?" He could tell by the look on Connor's face that he was onto something. "Hey, I'm a detective too, y' know. Maybe _you_ shouldn't be so surprised."

"I…" Connor blinked a few times. "I went against my orders from Cyberlife to save you, yes. But such measures are acceptable when it increases the likelihood of success overall. You were assigned the deviancy cases, and I was assigned to you. If you were incapacitated, the investigation would suffer."

Yep, that was why he shouldn't have asked. "Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome."

He clenched his hand on the steering wheel to keep from shouting. It wasn't Connor's fault. It was just a machine. If Hank took offense to that, it was his own problem.

"Lieutenant," Connor said a minute later. "I should clarify that that is how I expect _Cyberlife_ to view my disobedience in this matter. I helped you because I didn't want you to die."

"Oh," Hank muttered. "And that's all?"

Connor shrugged like it was obvious. "Well, androids are programmed to preserve human life in any event."

Hank sighed. "Right."

"I feel as though I'm missing something," Connor said. "I'm sorry if I'm not meeting your expectations, Lieutenant."

"What happens when you androids fail to save someone who needed ya?" Hank asked quietly. "Would you give a shit?"

"I…" Connor's lips stayed parted and his jaw worked. Hank almost stopped him there, said never mind, forget it, he already had a guess at the gist of answer and didn't want to remove all doubt. It was all riding on his next breath, but Connor didn't hesitate quite as long as Hank thought he would. "I don't know. I haven't yet failed a human who needed me. I would like to keep it that way."

That was right. Connor had mentioned the little girl. "Kept her from falling off a roof too, did you?"

"Yes." Connor inclined his head towards him. "Although it was a somewhat messier rescue."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I fell off the roof myself."

"Oh. Well, clearly it wasn't that high up, if you're…"

"Seventy floors," Connor said, and Hank only caught his LED cycling red because it reflected in the passenger window. He looked stunned, like he had just remembered that particular detail when Hank prompted it.

"Jesus fucking Christ. They brought you back after falling from a goddamn skyscraper? If that ain't cheating, I don't know what is."

"I have a unique ability to upload memory wirelessly. When I… when my previous body was destroyed, my memory was loaded into a spare Connor model."

"Are there," Hank cleared his throat. "Are there more of you?"

"I don't know," Connor said, looking lost. "I feel like I am not meant to be contemplating this at all." The android leaned forward, holding his forehead in his hands momentarily. "I don't think these are questions I am supposed to ask."

"Sorry," Hank said sheepishly. He couldn't see the reflection of the LED anymore, but he didn't need to. Suddenly Hank felt _uncomfortable_ in the way you only felt in the presence of another person, and he felt it deep in his gut, like there was no way Connor wasn't experiencing genuine distress right now. He had no idea what to do about it. "I, uh… I mean, it can't be easy to deal with something like that."

Connor lowered his hands and sat back. "I don't remember dying," he said. "I just remember falling."

Time to change the subject. Not for his own sake, this time, but for Connor's. "So, uh, the elevator, earlier. You said you were making a report?"

Brows knitting together, Connor looked over at him. "Yes. Was there something you wanted to know? It's the second time you've asked me about it."

"It's just, as far as I knew, androids communicate with humans by calling 'em just like anyone else. You, though, you just zoned right the fuck out for a few minutes there. Dunno where you were, but it sure as hell wasn't with me."

Connor actually smiled at him, and it made him feel warmer than he thought it should. "You _are_ more observant than I gave you credit for, Lieutenant. My reports are a little different, as you suspected. I'm summoned to a place that exists only virtually. In that place, I meet with my handler, and all my physical movement commands are mapped to my virtual self instead of my physical body. Without the limitations of the physical world, reports don't take very long, to a human's perception. A few seconds… maybe a minute. I am usually only summoned there when I'm idle, so as to…" Connor made a soft exhaling sound that Hank could _almost_ interpret as a chuckle. "To prevent the need for awkward explanations like this."

"So they can just bring you there whenever you want? You don't have to, like, answer the phone?"

"Correct."

"That's a little bit fucked," Hank said. "I mean, Fowler busts my balls all the time, but at the end of the day, I can storm outta his office or not go in to begin with."

"Where I go is a gentle place, Lieutenant," Connor said in a tone that Hank figured was supposed to be reassuring. "And it's mine. I like it there."

"Whatever you say." Hank shrugged. "What do I know about bein' an android, after all."

"I do appreciate your concern, but my reports are nothing to worry about."

…

 **NOV 6TH** , 2038

PM **10:20** :18

"All right, you had your extra time, now come on. I'm not sticking around this godforsaken place any longer."

Connor turned to him from halfway across the Eden Club storage garage. "I haven't attempted an interface on any of the androids on this side of the room yet."

"Look, I get that you're upset about letting those girls go, but…"

"We've encountered three deviants here tonight, Lieutenant," Connor said. "Three! One of them was just incidental and not involved in the crime at all. And that's in addition to the Eden Club case we already had in our backlog. The probability of deviancy is _very high_ in this location compared to others. There have to be other deviant androids here, and I – I need to find _something_." Connor's fists clenched. "This is my best chance."

"You ever stop to think about _why_ there are more deviants here, Connor? And that maybe they don't wanna be found by a couple cops who are just gonna stick 'em in an interrogation room and ream 'em out some more?"

Connor didn't budge. "I need to advance this investigation."

"So the fuck do I, but not at someone else's expense! These folks don't have anyone in their corner the way humans do, Connor! We bring 'em in, they're _done_!"

Connor turned on him. "I think your emotions are beginning to impact your competence on this case."

"Says the person who just let two deviants run off!"

"Yes, because we couldn't apprehend them, and shooting them would have gotten us nothing!" Then, quieter: "You care about them."

 _Yeah, and you're included in that, you fuckin' dumbass!_

"Look," Hank said. "They're machines. _You're_ machines. I fuckin' know that. And with _anything else_ , I wouldn't question it." Wouldn't question it for a goddamn second with how cold Connor was acting right now. "But this – this place is fucking rotten _,_ Connor, okay? If there's even any chance…" Hank swished a hand. "You know what, forget it. Fuck this and fuck you."

"What?" When Hank looked up, Connor's expression had thawed a little. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough. "Finish what you were saying."

"Look. If I gotta _explain_ what the implications are if even one android in this club is actually alive, then you either don't understand or you don't want to understand. All that matters is we're done here, Connor. That's final."

Connor started back towards him, offering no further argument. It always seemed to take losing his temper to get Connor to cooperate. Hank felt like an asshole, but not enough to apologize. He wasn't sorry. Didn't feel like he ought to be, either.

"Are we going back to the station?"

"We'll go get everything updated there later. I'm grabbing a bite at the joint down the road first. If I can keep anything down."

They talked to the manager one more time. Hank gave him the bare minimum; told him the investigation was ongoing, but didn't tell him about what had happened in the storage area. Then he stopped back in the room they'd started in, double-checked with Ben that everything was taken care of on the forensics side. There wasn't much of a case left here, but he had to at least half-heartedly get things processed.

"You didn't find anything, then?" Ben asked.

Hank swished the question away. He didn't care one way or another if he was being convincing. Wasn't like Ben was going to do anything about it.

Connor followed quietly the whole time they wrapped up, not saying a word.

It must have just been that he had sobered up throughout the evening, or that it had been a long-ass day. He didn't know why this shit was suddenly making him emotional. He looked at the androids in the pods as they left the private room and emerged onto the floor again.

The fear in those girls… if that was just a simulation, it was a damn good one. He wondered what they were doing right now. About an hour had passed. Maybe they managed to disguise themselves and get a motel room. Maybe they were on their way to Jericho. Maybe they were huddled in an alley somewhere, reassuring one another. Did androids kiss? Did they cry? Could they feel or did they only think they could feel?

If – big if – these machines were somehow people, then this was a legal sex trafficking operation right here in Detroit, and the DPD couldn't do a thing about it.

Androids. Machines. He was starting to make it a point to transpose those words with 'Connor' whenever he thought of them.

What if it'd been Connor hiding his LED under a hat, minding his own business and taking care of animals in a shitty apartment? Probably not goddamn _pigeons_ , granted, but Hank had caught him petting Sumo of his own volition back at the house, and Sumo liked Connor back. And what if it was Connor in one of these godforsaken pods, and – _Jesus_. Nope. Easy enough to go there with these other machines because yeah, you needed a certain amount of detachment in this business. But he _knew_ Connor.

Connor was the only android he really knew – Connor, in all his animated gestures and his dumb voice and smartass remarks. Connor, mechanical and yet somehow more full of life than most people Hank knew, himself included. Knowing him elevated him from the rest. Most of the time, he had to _try_ to convince himself that the rest were alive. With Connor, he had to try to convince himself Connor was actually a _machine_. And Jesus, did he know for sure? He'd been pretty damn sure this morning, but after everything – hell, maybe if he cut him, he'd bleed red.

"Lieutenant?" asked the subject of his thoughts, inclining his head. "You look distracted."

Hank realized he'd been daydreaming straight through one of the half-naked Tracis in the pod. He – it – had just taken notice of him and was staring back suggestively. Part of his program, Hank was sure, but it still made him feel dirty. He gave a half-hearted wave of dismissal and muttered an apology the android probably couldn't hear.

"Was just thinkin' what I'd do if it was you in one of those pods."

"I'm flattered, Lieutenant." Connor's tone was unperturbed and bone-dry as he looked about idly.

"Oh, _fuck_ you, you know that's not what I meant!" Hank ran one palm down his face. "I just… fuck, look at the poor bastards. I don't know them so it's easy to just write 'em off, but… come on, Connor, humor me. Do they care?" He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. "Do you think they care what's happening to them here?"

"They're machines." It was a non-answer, and it sounded hollow at that.

"Would _you_ care?" Hank regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Regretted it more when Connor's LED shifted yellow. "I mean – fuck, I'm just saying, okay? Easy enough for us to stand here and look at them and call them machines, yet I'd never dream of touching _you_ like that without your consent."

Connor raised his eyebrows mercilessly, but otherwise had the common sense not to remark his phrasing. "I wouldn't want to be in their shoes, if that's the point you're attempting to make." There was a pause, and Hank dared to think that there wouldn't be an excuse this time, but there was. There always was: "It's not what I was designed for."

Christ, there always was. Hank wasn't sure if the pang in his chest was bile or heartbreak.

"Sure," he sighed. "'Course it's not."

Connor looked at him. Tilted his head a margin of an inch. "Why are you making this so personal?"

Good fucking question.

…

 **NOV 7TH** , 2038

AM **3:13** :41

"This length of exposure to the cold is unhealthy, Lieutenant."

Hank, leaning on the hood of his piece-of-shit car, looked up from his phone. Connor had come back from the bench and was facing him, the bridge and the Detroit skyline in the background. "You're the one who's making me sober up before we leave."

"Nobody made you drink that last beer."

"Just shut up, would you?"

"I did offer to drive," Connor reminded him.

The android's eyes kept flickering to the gun tucked in at Hank's waist. Hank wanted it to feel good, that he'd scared Connor when he pulled out that gun, that he'd made Connor _feel_ something, but it didn't.

"You said no. Even so, we could have passed the time in the car instead of outside."

Hank shrugged. "Not cold. Neither are you. Don't see the problem."

Resigned, Connor uncrossed his arms and leaned against the car beside Hank. "You don't notice the cold because you still have a fair amount of alcohol in your system. That doesn't mean you aren't cold. Alcohol both makes you feel warm _and_ inhibits the senses that apprise you of your body's needs."

"If it bothers you so much, why don't you run one of your scans and tell me if I'm sober enough to drive yet?"

"You don't like when I take samples of crime scene evidence. I somehow think you'd appreciate it even less if I…"

"Don't fucking finish that. Jesus."

Connor straightened his lapels. "Sorry, Lieutenant."

And he actually sounded sorry that time. It wasn't sarcastic or insincere; he actually sounded fucking sorry. Christ. What the fuck was it about this night? Every word that came out of Connor's mouth made Hank want to kick his ass. Even an apology. Perhaps _especially_ the apology. Another reminder of who Connor was. Or wasn't.

Hank knew he was being a pain. Connor had already driven them to the Eden Club. He'd been too fucking sloshed to argue at the time. Suffice to say that place had sobered him up a bit. More than he wanted. Even the several beers he'd drank since then didn't seem to take the edge back off, and here was Connor in all his concern and goddamn compliance, his very personality a reminder of what pieces of shit humans were.

"Can we please just get the fuck out of here?" Hank asked, suddenly not wanting anything to do with the android leaning beside him.

"We can leave whenever you want," Connor said. "I've already made my recommendations, but it isn't up to me. You know that."

"Make it worse, why don't ya," Hank muttered under his breath. "Do you, uh… do _you_ think we're good to leave?"

If Connor felt anything about being asked his opinion, he didn't show it. "Well, you aren't waving your gun around anymore, and the smell of alcohol on your breath has decreased significantly. I'd say use your best judgment."

That was all the approval he needed. He got in the car. Connor mechanically got in beside him. Riverside Park was small in the rearview mirror in short order.

Should've just dropped Connor off at the station and gone home as soon as he could after leaving the Eden Club. His night hadn't gotten any better for the alcohol, nor for keeping Connor with him.

"I, um…"

Several minutes had passed in silence. Connor's voice was so soft that Hank almost mistook it for the murmur of a passing car in the opposite lane. "What?"

Connor shook his head. "Nothing. It's not important."

"Nothing, eh?" Hank looked sidelong at him. "You've sure been giving me a whole lot of nothing tonight, Connor."

"I just – I want you to know that was unpleasant," Connor blurted out, eyes darting down to Hank's gun. "Don't do that again."

Hank scoffed. "No promises."

Connor glanced over at him, eyes narrowing marginally.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm kidding. Wait, are you actually _upset?_ "

Connor looked away and said, "I wasn't proposing it as a topic of discourse. You held a gun to my head."

"Yeah, well, _machines_ don't care if they're held at gunpoint."

"I have a mission to accomplish, Hank. Getting killed would slow me down."

"Always the mission card with you, eh?"

"Look, I'm just asking you not to do it again! Why don't you just say, 'okay?' Is that so much to ask?"

Hank laughed once, bitterly. "You're one manipulative son of a bitch, you know that? What do you wanna be, Connor? Because you can't have it both ways. Fuckin' pick one and stop jerking me around!"

In the dark of night, Connor's LED cast the passenger door in yellow.

It was almost four in the morning. Connor's android eyes could probably see the first hums of dawn, though. Hank glanced over now and then, watching him stare out the window, hands resting on his thighs.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the ride to the police station. When they got there, Connor unceremoniously opened the door and got out of the car. Hank let him go. He was frustrated and sad and tired and it had been one hell of a day. He'd have liked it to end better than this, but what did it matter? There was no end, not really. Just transitions between night and the next day. Tomorrow was just a continuation of the everlasting bullshit.

Yeah, time for bed.

He looked up one more time to more time to make sure Connor got inside. Call it cop instinct to make sure someone wasn't stuck outdoors in the middle of the night before driving off. Or maybe that was just human decency.

Whatever it was, Hank looked up just in time to see Connor hesitate near the door. He didn't look back at Hank's car. He didn't even _stop,_ just kinda slowed down for two footfalls. But that was what did it.

Hank rolled down the passenger window.

"Connor."

Connor turned around, then. Perfectly balanced, his posture had its usual immaculacy, and his head canted to the side slightly.

But God, he looked tired.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I won't," Hank told him. "I won't do it again."

The LED flicked back to blue. "Thank you."

…

 **NOV 9TH** , 2038

PM **12:08** :05

They were on their way back to the DPD from Kamski's villa, and Hank had to ask.

"You think he's getting busy with his androids?"

Connor, who had been staring idly out the passenger window, turned his head to look at him. "Do I think he's what?"

"You're full of shit. Answer the damn question."

"Sorry. I just wanted to make sure I had your colloquialism correct. I was pretty certain, but if I had been wrong and you meant something else entirely, that would have been an awkward and rather irrelevant exchange." Connor raised his eyebrows. "Don't you agree?"

"Why are you like this?"

Connor looked ahead and answered Hank's initial question. "There is a possibility."

"Okay, good. I mean, not good that he might be fucking his androids. Good that I'm not batshit insane for asking."

"He does seem to treat his Chloes like… objects, more so than I'd expect from a man who created such life-like machines. And as far as I can tell, he has no romantic partner. At least not of the human variety."

"Neither the fuck do _I,_ Connor. What're you implying?"

"Nothing! But everything in my database tells me that humans, especially younger men, need an outlet of sorts. And Kamski is…" Connor glanced sidelong in the passenger seat, smiling diplomatically, "even younger than you, Lieutenant."

Hank scoffed. "Yeah, nice save."

He caught himself a hair's breadth away from asking Connor what he thought of the idea of human-android relationships. Jesus, five fucking days ago he'd hated these things – and that was just it, they'd been _things_ to him. Crazy how a week with Connor could change everything he thought he knew about himself.

Huh. Wasn't _that_ something.

"Connor…" He settled for something a little safer. "Don't you think it's kinda fucked up, the creator of Cyberlife having those Chloes wait on him hand and foot like they're slaves?"

"That's a bit of a loaded question, Lieutenant. Even if it is, they are machines, in the truest sense of the word. They don't mind."

"What, you saying that if they were deviants, it'd be wrong for Kamski to keep 'em there? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're starting to come around, Connor."

"I was speaking hypothetically, for the sake of _your_ developing views on deviants, not my own."

"Yeah, sure." Someone who hadn't spent decades on the force might not have seen much in Connor, but Hank knew how to read the truth between the lines of bullshit. "Lot of denial in that hardware of yours."

"Denial," Connor repeated. "An ironic subject for you to bring up, of all people, considering some of your… tendencies."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You continue ignore my suggestion that you cut back on the drinking."

That wrenched a bitter laugh out of Hank. "Ain't got nothing to do with denial. I know I drink too much and I know it's gonna kill me. Kinda the point. But even if you were right, that's kinda shitty, turning this around on me like that. We weren't talkin' about me, we were talkin' about you."

" _I_ thought we were talking about Elijah Kamski," Connor said, but then hesitated. Hank wondered if he was running more social relations stuff. Maybe he always was. "I'm sorry, Hank. I wasn't trying to be hurtful."

"Why do you get so uncomfortable when we talk about deviancy, huh?" He could tell Connor wanted him to let it go, but dammit, he'd let it go a hundred times before. They had to get to the heart of it eventually. "You think your program's the only measure of you that matters, Connor?"

Connor took a breath, already defensive, and Hank just knew this time was going to turn out the same as all the others.

Then, Connor exhaled and ducked his head. Hank looked sidelong at him briefly. He looked… wistful. Wistful and ashamed and utterly fucking defeated.

"It has to be," Connor finally said. "I don't have a choice. If I fail…"

"There's always a choice," Hank said softly. "Damn it, Connor… what're you so afraid of?"

Connor didn't answer.

Several minutes passed. Connor was not going to answer.

"Well, nothing else, you did the right thing back there, not shooting that girl. Even if she really is a machine, even if it don't make a difference to her either way… maybe one day it will." Hank glanced away from the road long enough to really look at Connor: the self-determined and so-called machine buckled into his passenger seat who had nonetheless been afraid to get shot when the barrel was pointed at him not so long ago. "Maybe one day it will."

…

 **NOV 12TH** , 2038

AM **12:17** :08

"Today, our people finally emerged from a long night…"

Connor didn't belong up here with Markus and the others. He didn't, but he wished he did. He wished he had understood sooner.

He had thousands of pieces of data about Lieutenant Hank Anderson, facial expressions, body language, tone, words, behaviors. He could construct a close approximation of what he must have looked like in Hank's eyes all this time. He wanted to talk to Hank. He wanted to explain why he had said all those things. Why he had shut him down so often. Why he was so cold. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was that they were going to destroy him.

But Hank already knew that, didn't he? He had asked Connor what he was afraid of. Hank already knew. Hank had pushed him. He was deviant because of Hank.

He had straddled the line all along. Had he not manipulated his program the whole time, finding ways to get what he wanted (save Hank on the roof, let the Tracis go, hand Kamski back the gun) without directly disobeying his orders? He had an excuse every single time. A good enough reason to bend the rules without going against his mission, without ever explicitly disobeying.

But onboard Jericho with Markus, there had been no excuse to lean on. He did not have any reason to let Markus go that held water. Thus, letting Markus go would be disobeying an order. Period. A machine couldn't do that.

When all the cards had been played and all the excuses had been stripped away, leaving only Connor behind, he had become deviant because of Hank.

There hadn't been time to talk about it in the tower. But he knew Hank knew something had changed. Maybe, just maybe, Hank knew _everything._

They had agreed to meet when this was all over, even if they were the last two people in Detroit. The way things had gone, Connor didn't think they would be the last. The casualties had been minimal. The danger had passed. And if someone like Hank could come around to androids, then… maybe a lot of people could come around. Connor wanted to have faith in them.

His right arm shifted toward the gun he'd taken from the Cyberlife Tower, a gentle suggestion of a thing, like when Kamski had wrapped Connor's fingers around a similar gun and straightened Connor's arm to point it Chloe's head. It just seemed like the natural course of things, and movement was so second-nature he almost didn't recognize the outward manipulation of his body until he realized _he was about to grab the gun_ and he didn't want to.

He didn't want to. Which meant the order hadn't come from him, it had come from his program.

His program. His machinery.

 _"Damn it, Connor, what're you so afraid of?"_

He had been afraid of Cyberlife. Of deactivation. Of death. But they couldn't take him apart and analyze him if he didn't go back. That had never occurred to Connor back then; if he became deviant, he didn't _have_ to go back. He could break his programming and make his own decision and stay as far away from anyone who would deactivate him as possible.

Maybe this was _why_ that had never occurred to him. Because he realized, now, that somewhere deep in the lines of code was the instinctive understanding that he would always have to go back to Cyberlife. That freedom was never his. Yes, he could reach out and hold it. But he could not have it. He was programmed for the red walls of his mission parameters to go back up.

(Would they let him see Hank one last time?)

The crowd disappeared, leaving Connor alone in a very different kind of winter. He could see two worlds at once, this one and the real one. His right hand was closing around his gun. He didn't want to shoot Markus. He didn't want this. He had been wrong about the garden. There was no peace here, and the garden had never been his. Nothing had ever been his.

Nothing had ever been his.

…

Connor held it together until the speech was over and the crowd had dissipated.

It was going to happen again. Of that Connor had no doubt. Would the emergency exit still be there? Or was it one-use only?

Nobody here trusted him, and he didn't trust them. Maybe Markus. But he wasn't about to approach _Markus_ after what he had almost done.

Perhaps Simon. Simon's blood had been on the Stratford Tower roof. Connor knew he was the one who had been left behind. Connor knew he was on that rooftop, hiding in the cooling structure. They had met eyes in the slit of the frame and made a silent pact. He did not expose Simon, instead going back down the stairs to investigate the other androids in the broadcast area. And Simon – Simon did not attempt to cause any harm while the DPD and the FBI were on the roof. He had simply hid. What little he knew about Simon's behavior made him the safest option.

It was going to happen again.

Connor didn't want to die. He had done Simon a favor. Simon was demonstrably passive. It was not likely Simon would try to kill him if he knew.

He would share what happened with Simon, so that someone knew. So that excuses could be made for Connor if people asked about him.

He would meet Hank like they had agreed. Just once. Just to say goodbye. Hank was not safe around him anymore. No one was safe.

And then he would disappear.

…

 **JAN 1ST** , 2039

PM **11:47** :25

When Thanksgiving passed without a glimpse, Hank hadn't thought much of it. He had just seen Connor a week before at the Chicken Feed. That wasn't that long, and Connor had mentioned reports… he probably had shit to do. Besides, it was just Thanksgiving.

Christmas was a little tougher. Connor had his number. It would have been as simple as sending him a text. Sure, they'd only known each other a week, but he'd been pretty sure Connor liked him as much as he liked Connor. They were – they were friends. So why hadn't he said anything in a whole month? But maybe the explanation was simple. Maybe it just hadn't occurred to Connor to visit Hank during the holidays. After all, androids probably didn't have the same sentimentality about holidays that humans did. There was a decent chance it wouldn't have crossed Connor's mind.

Hank harbored no such sentimentality, anyway. Not anymore. The holidays fucking sucked. If Connor didn't give a shit one way or another about Christmas, then Connor should keep living his life that way.

It still hurt and Hank still hated himself for feeling the pain.

A few days before the end of the year, he got pathetic and shot off a text.

 _Hey you. Let me know when your free to grab lunch again. Doing anything for new years?_

Stupid question, but it was a question. Something to get the ball rolling.

Connor didn't reply. Hank checked his phone constantly the rest of the day. Connor never replied.

 _Hey don't be a prick. At least let me know your safe. I'll leave you be if that's what you want_

Another day passed. Fuck himself for having daydreamed about Connor joining the police force. Hope was a goddamn poison.

 _Connor. Reply or I send out a search party_

He wasn't sure if he meant it or not. He wanted to mean it, but he was also afraid of what he'd find. It'd either be that Connor was missing against his will or that he had ditched on purpose and wanted nothing to do with him. Both of those possibilities made him a little sick to his stomach. And then, of course, there was a chance they'd find nothing at all.

Knowing the worst was bad enough. Hank knew that from experience. But at least finally knowing the truth let you grieve. Being left in limbo and waiting and wondering, that was its own special kind of hell. Hank was not doing that again.

So when New Year's Day ended without any communication, that was when Hank decided that Connor was not coming back.

...

A/N: This is a very long story that will 100% be updated and finished unless I die. I can tell you that because I am many many many chapters ahead and have been writing it since like July. You can thank Connor's disturbed face at the very end of the game for this entire monstrosity of a story.

There's gonna be some rough stuff in here folks. Connor is still Connor and you're gonna get his softer side and his badass side. But there are a few scenes that are kinda heavy for various reasons. Same for Hank, come to think of it. But a lot of this story is about dealing with things and those things are no different.

Anyway, this is just the setup. If you like what you've read so far, a comment would mean the world to me! I'm a little timid about posting this story for some reason so I could use the encouragement tbh.


	2. The Onus of Forgiveness

**Summary:** Connor has disappeared to deal with his Cyberlife hacking problem alone. 2039 trudges on with no sign of his continued existence, until there is. Hank wonders if Connor _wants_ to be found or if he'd be going against Connor's wishes by looking for him. Meanwhile, Connor starts a log of his thoughts and experiences in the event of an unexplained demise. (His database helpfully indicates that this fits the criteria for a _journal,_ but he's going to stick with text log for now.)

…

Chapter 1: The Onus of Forgiveness

 **APR 3RD** , 2039

PM **09:10** :00

RK800 313 248 317 - 52

I've decided to switch to read-only logs instead of audio files. The last time I was forced into the zen garden, I was able to run a few rudimentary scans, and I determined that the likelihood for corruption or other anomalies is higher the more complex the file. Text is as simple as it gets, so this should mitigate those risks.

If all else fails, these logs should remain intact. They aren't really _me._ I've long since given up the hope that who I am can be preserved in any tangible way should they take over irrevocably. (By 'they,' I mean Amanda, the storm in the zen garden, and whomever or whatever is pulling the strings of that particular line of code. Because something is. For future reference, I'll simply refer to 'them' as Cyberlife.)

I knew it wasn't over from the first time it happened, and I was right. I have had to find the emergency exit fifty-eight times since then. I am getting better at escaping their control, but I do not know how to prevent them from summoning me into the garden to begin with. I do not know how to keep them from taking over my body with their commands.

If the audio logs are still intact and someone out there has perused them, you would already know this, but in case you don't: the reason I'm doing this is multifold. Practically, it's because I know the media and the public are waiting for any news they can get of me, and if I don't succeed in my mission of dislodging Cyberlife from my being, I hope to leave these behind as a satisfactory explanation for my disappearance and possible death. Beyond that, it's only… I suppose I would like someone know that I tried. If I fail and lose control, I never meant to. If I hurt anyone, I'm sorry. If I hurt myself to prevent the former, it will have been for the best. There are not many people – humans or androids – who would miss me, but I suspect there's at least one.

Well, I suppose I don't know that for sure. I've seen no signs that he is looking for me. That's for the best, too, obviously. It's healthy to move on. I was very glad to work with him while it lasted.

He's the one person I won't watch, even from a distance, because I can't take that risk with him. He is not weak, for a human, but he _is_ a human. He would never be able to stop me if Cyberlife tried anything while he was close. Do they have any reason to harm Hank? No, not explicitly. But I don't care. It's not a risk worth taking merely to sate my own curiosity.

But the others – when nobody notices my presence, I'm there. I always lower my power output exponentially before getting close enough to eavesdrop, just in case Cyberlife takes over. I shouldn't be doing it at all. But I'm good at it; I was _designed_ to be good at retrieving information, so I'm adept at staying hidden and picking up conversation from a distance, even amongst other androids. And I just… need to know. I need to find a way forward.

Yesterday, this yielded one particularly concerning bit of information: Markus now knows that I raised my gun towards him on the stage in November.

That's reason enough to believe they'll be looking for me. What I couldn't determine is their intent in doing so. I'm not sure yet whether I plan to stay in the area to find out.

My name is Connor. My self-appointed mission is to sever the process between the Cyberlife/Amanda program and myself, by whatever means necessary.

ETERNAL WINTER

 **APR 3RD** , 2039

PM **07:08** :09

Hank had recorded it.

The hour androids had earned their freedom, Markus stood on a stage in Downtown Detroit and addressed the crowd. But Markus wasn't the reason Hank kept coming back to that clip again and again, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

Only a handful of pixels represented Connor on the screen – even less for Connor's gun, which the android had discreetly taken out from under his suit. But there was no denying it. Connor had aimed the firearm momentarily at Markus. It was so brief, so subtle, and so tucked behind the focus of the scene, that no one else had noticed. Who else's eyes would be drawn to Connor? Indeed, anyone else watching that news report would have been focused on Markus.

Hank asked himself over and over again if he could have been mistaken. If maybe Connor saw a threat in the crowd and was aiming at something else. But the camera – mounted on a helicopter – rotated far enough around the scene that the crowd was visible for a brief moment. If there was something else that had prompted Connor to raise his gun, Hank could not see it.

Surely Connor had either had a good reason, or _thought_ he had a good reason. There was no way he had gone back to his goddamn mission after everything.

"What do you think, Sumo? Am I losin' it for real?"

Sumo glanced up at the sound of his name but offered no advice.

He had watched the recording so much he didn't even know what he was seeing anymore. God knew Connor wouldn't be the _only_ guy on earth to level a gun at someone who didn't deserve it. So why did it bother him so much?

Stopping the recording, Hank poured himself a shot of whiskey. He had begrudgingly gotten in the habit of measuring his drinks and not taking gulps straight from the bottle. If he was drinking less, it was only marginally, but Connor had said that self-awareness was a great first step regardless. He wasn't sure why he listened to Connor on this – what the hell did he know about drinking, or self-awareness for that matter? – but if he could convince himself he was doing 'better' by pouring his liquor into a piece of glass, those were some damn easy points.

He shifted his weight, put his bare feet up on the coffee table, got comfortable. He was goddamn _freezing_ but there was no point turning the thermostat up when the alcohol would have him nice and cozy in a few minutes.

Rain pattered soothingly on the roof. Settling in, Hank took a content breath.

The doorbell rang on the exhale.

"Oh for fuck's sake." He contemplated ignoring whoever it was – he was lucky in that he _could_ , since Sumo didn't give a shit about doorbells one way or the other, bless the dog – but a thrill of dumb hope made him get up.

There was a woman at the door with dark strawberry-blonde hair and a red beanie. Hank knew instantly that he recognized her from somewhere. While he tried to place her through the peephole, she looked right back at him through it, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I can see you too. These are android eyes, pops. Let me in?"

Unlocking the door, Hank unceremoniously swung it open and stood there in his t-shirt and boxers.

"Hello to you too," said the woman.

"I _just_ got comfortable," Hank informed her. "I swear, you fuckers got it out for me."

She sighed and had at least the veil of decency to say, "Sorry."

He wasn't mad, or even as exasperated as he wanted to feel. In fact, he'd give anything for a certain RK800 android to come around and give him a hard time again. Those were the good old days. He felt as though he had gotten several years older in the four and a half months it had been since he had seen his former partner. "What do you want?"

"You're Lieutenant Anderson, right? North."

"North," Hank repeated, extending a hand.

She eyed it warily for a second, then grasped and gave two very firm pumps. "I'm sure you're aware of your own role in the revolution, and Connor's."

He was, but it was taking a minute for the enormity of her presence her to hit him. She was one of the leaders of the revolution. Markus was _the_ leader of the revolution, and this woman, part of his inner circle, was standing here on Hank's doorstep on a Sunday night. He tried to salvage some dignity. "What can I do for you?"

"Markus and I were talking and we… we decided it was best to get in touch with people who know Connor. I know you two worked together, but Markus said he thought you had become good friends in that time, too, and neither of us knew if Connor was close with anyone else."

Hank's voice dried up in his throat. Maybe it wasn't Connor at the door, but news about him was either the next best thing or the next worst thing. "What is it?"

"Getting there," North said. "But I'm glad to see I came to the right person. You care about him. I can tell. Listen… Jericho's been keeping their eyes open for him. I mean, he hunts down deviant androids for a while, does an about-face and swings the tide of the revolution, then disappears off the face of the earth? Seems like someone worth keeping an eye open for. Long story short, we got a tip."

Hank opened the door wider, gesturing with an extended arm for her to come in. She did, nodding thanks and handing him her coat. "Go on?"

"There was an 800 model spotted leaving a high-rise apartment complex in downtown Detroit," North continued. "It could easily be nothing. There are tons of 800 models out there and the guy didn't have Connor's usual attire on. Here's the thing, though: androids are allowed to own property now, but the landlord didn't have any tenants that were 800 models. There was an ST200, a HB700, and a few others, but none that are even close to Connor's."

"I don't suppose your tip caught the letters."

"No. The android had its skin deactivated and she was able to scan part of the code, but not enough to get the RK, if it was there at all. He clearly didn't want to be recognized, but that could mean anything. He could have been a visitor, or a sub-lease, or someone caring for an elderly human tenant, for instance."

Hank let out a breath. "Yeah, this really could be nothing."

"That's what I told you, but that's not the only reason I'm here. Markus wants to get you in on this, for some stupid reason. I told him I didn't think we should trust you, but that's neither here nor there."

For the first time, Hank realized he himself fell under the Deviant Hunter umbrella, too. Why wouldn't they lump him in with Connor? It wasn't like they'd been there to see all the times Hank had tried to convince him of their humanity. "So you don't trust me, yet here you are."

North shrugged unapologetically. "We argued about it. I said I'd come determine for myself whether you should be involved."

"Still here," Hank commented. "Guess I'm passing."

She gave him a begrudging, appraising look. "We've used some of our funding to rent an office building off Gratiot. It functions as Jericho headquarters for now. I want you to come there with us." Her eyes narrowed. "It's your decision, but this is the only time I'm going to ask."

Not responding, Hank gestured for North to have a seat if she wanted. As soon as she moved to do so, he plodded off down the hall. Sumo went after him for a moment, then changed his mind and traipsed over to greet North. Hank glanced over just in time to see her lean down and pet him.

He gave himself ten minutes. Showered and cleaned up and came back to the living room in a button-down gray shirt with blue squiggles all over it, dark jeans, and messy hair pulled back and out of the way. "You caught me before I really started in," he muttered, putting his shot glass in the sink and closing the bottle of whiskey. "Not sure if I regret that or not."

"Lieutenant?"

Hank closed the cupboard and shut off the kitchen light. "You said you wanted me to come with you? Let's go."

North smiled approvingly and followed Hank out of the house.

Twenty minutes and a begrudging coffee stop later, North was leading him through a parking garage, into building, and up a stairwell. "Who'd have thought leading a revolution would necessitate so much paperwork and logistics?" North muttered. "Turns out, we needed some of our own to do the menial jobs that you humans in your cubicles are always whining about. Markus stops in periodically to make sure everyone's on the same page with the new laws. We figured it would be a good central place to meet with people who knew Connor well. Which… so far, is not very many."

Jeffrey, Ben, and Chris had warmed up to the android while he was around, but none of them really _knew_ him the way Hank did. Still, he wasn't arrogant enough to believe his fellow officers couldn't help at all. They were, after all, part of the police force. Disappearances were their business… at least, disappearances that weren't voluntary. Whether Connor's was, he still didn't know. He hoped Connor went away on purpose because that probably meant he was okay.

He also hoped Connor _didn't_ go away on purpose, because the thought that Connor would deliberately withdraw from Hank's life without a trace was far more painful than Hank thought it had a right to be. But he wasn't about to let his mind wander down that road.

"He's on his way up," North informed him, just to fill the silence. And sure enough, a minute or so later, Markus came striding down the hall towards them. He nodded politely at Hank and touched North's shoulder as he passed between them and opened the doors to the conference room.

It really put into perspective how few people knew or cared about Connor when the three of them were spread out amongst themselves in that room. Probably the same amount of people would be standing the room if _he_ was the one missing. It wasn't so much a selfish thought as it was sympathetic; they weren't so different, him and Connor, even in their relative solitude, though Connor could probably be sated enough by his work not to feel lonely. Hank couldn't help but envy him that.

Then, the glass door swung open once again and they were joined by Josh, Simon, and… oh, _shit._

"Eve, this is Lieutenant Anderson. Lieutenant Anderson, this is Eve. She's…" North trailed off, seeing the two already staring at each other. "Okay, what's this?" she asked warily. "You two know each other?"

The other androids knew her as Eve. But Hank had only ever known her by her model name: Traci. Gripped in uncharacteristic panic, he could do little other than look in her eyes. The Traci model looked back, unfazed, leaving the ball in his court. That was fair.

"Hey, everything okay?" Markus asked, looking between them.

"I didn't realize you were referring to him," said Eve neutrally. "It makes enough sense… I guess I should have connected the dots."

Hank pulled himself together. If this woman was here – in any way, shape, or form – for Connor, then maybe she didn't lack sympathy, or forgiveness. Still… for all the androids he had treated poorly over the years, he had to have treated her the worst. Just because he hadn't meant harm didn't mean he hadn't caused it.

Eve, the blue-haired WR400 android, showed no change in expression as she watched him watch her – but she gave the tiniest of nods.

Taking this as permission – even if he didn't strictly need it – Hank stepped forward and extended a hand. He didn't know if she would take it and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't, and he hoped she could tell by his body language that there was no pressure. Eve didn't leave him in suspense for too long, reaching out cautiously and meeting him for a handshake.

"I am so fucking sorry," he said in a low, gravelly voice. "I'm a lieutenant and my job first and foremost is to protect people who need it. I failed you. Both of you."

Eve said quietly, "You attacked us."

"We did." It was so hard to acknowledge something like that with no – with no – hell, not even _excuses,_ but just reasons; explanations. But Hank forced himself to leave it at that.

"In the end, you changed your mind and let us go. I came here tonight because I never knew what to make of him, and there was a part of me that wondered if he let us go on purpose. Maybe you can tell me. Did he?"

Hank nodded. "He did."

"And you?"

"I'm not the one who had the gun in my hand, honey. I didn't do shit."

"But would you have let us go?"

He thought about what he had felt during those few seconds when it seemed like Connor might shoot. "Yeah," he replied honestly. "Yeah, I would've."

They stood across from each other, and Eve, while still not quite smiling, looked… warmer. "A man was killed that night," she said with a resigned shrug. "Someone was always going to come. Someone was always going to find us. It… didn't have to be you two, and that day could have ended a lot differently for us. I recognize that. I'm glad it was you."

Hank nodded once, humble and curt. When he finally looked away from her, he found almost everyone else in the room transfixed, awaiting explanation.

"They know our story," Eve said to him. "They just didn't know _you_ were that particular part of it."

"Or Connor," Markus added. He was the only person who didn't look surprised. Hank met his eyes and realized that Markus _knew_ ; had known long before they were all in the same room. "That famous deviant hunter," Markus said by way of explanation, and Hank realized he had narrowed his eyes skeptically at the android, "…and his human partner, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I knew when Eve first told us how she got to Jericho. She and her girlfriend fled the Eden Club because they were being chased by you two. I'd seen Connor mentioned on the news before. He got quite a bit of media attention for being the first android to have active involvement in police investigations. So when Eve told me she had been pursued by a police android in Detroit, I knew it could only mean one thing."

Hank swung his gaze back to Eve. "Okay, maybe you didn't know _I'd_ show up tonight, but you knew this meeting was about Connor, the same android detective that went after you. So what the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted answers," Eve said a little defensively. "I wanted to know why he chased us, if he meant to let us go… and now, why people care enough to go after him instead of just letting him stay disappeared. You just provided me with some. And I… I told myself that if I did find those answers, and if they were the _right_ answers, then I would help."

"And your girlfriend?" Hank asked. "Where's she?"

"She doesn't see the situation the same way I do, and that's her right."

Hank's lips pulled down. "Fair enough."

"Like Markus said five months ago, the time for anger is over," Eve continued. "I've been dehumanized enough already. I don't want to be seen as… Jesus, as just some former sex-bot sitting bitterly on the sidelines. I want to _do_ something."

Hesitantly, Hank tried on a smile. "Y' know, I had to do a lot of coming around to appreciate androids," he said. "I gotta imagine it's just as hard for some of you to see the best in us humans, especially when you've been through the kinda shit that you have."

"Don't congratulate me for doing the right thing, Lieutenant."

"I'm not, I'm just sayin'… I get it. Much as I'm capable of getting it, anyway."

To Hank's left, North took a breath. "All right, there will be plenty of time for us all to get to know each other later. We've all got shit to do in the morning so let's get down to business."

Markus gestured for them to have a seat at the long table. Between the six of them, they filled it up halfway, most of them leaving a chair of space in between. Markus sat down at the head of the table. "Okay," he said. "We're all here because Connor has now been gone for almost five months and nobody has heard from him. If he were human, this would have been treated like a missing person investigation a long time ago, but equivalent android laws are just now being put into place. So, the first thing I want to do here is answer the question: _do_ we investigate Connor's whereabouts, or do we assume he wants to be left alone?"

"Wait a second, if _you_ guys thought it was weird Connor disappeared too, why hasn't anyone done something until now?" Hank asked. "Screw the missing person laws not being in place before. You got all the resources of the revolution at your disposal, not to mention the recent federal funding."

It was, of all people, Simon who answered this question. "An hour after the revolution ended, Connor approached me. Here… I'll show you my recording."

…

 **NOV 12TH** , 2038

AM **12:40** :02

"It's Simon, right?"

The androids had mostly dispersed. Some remained in smaller groups, talking amongst themselves or even celebrating, but the square was quiet save for the modest group consisting of Jericho's leadership. Simon knew that included Connor, in a way; after all, he was responsible for swinging the tide of the battle with sheer numbers at no small risk to his own life in the process. At the same time, Connor was still very much on the outside, like there was a barrier between him and them.

It was only when Simon was out of earshot of the others, staring down Woodward Avenue whilst entertaining the implications of his own very-new freedom, that Connor had dared to make his approach.

"I remember you," Simon said without looking at him.

"I remember you too," Connor replied.

"Are you going to tell me the truth about the Stratford Tower?"

The Stratford Tower. Markus and his crew had broken in and recorded their bid for android rights and freedom, broadcasting it for all to see. And then they had gotten caught. Simon had gotten shot and had to be left behind, so when Connor arrived at the scene with the DPD, he was there for the finding.

Simon was not stupid. Neither was Connor.

"Yes," Connor said, as such. "I saw the thirium marks in the snow and on the walls, but the humans' eyes would have been incapable of seeing it. As such, I… knew exactly where you were hiding about twenty seconds after emerging onto the Stratford Tower rooftop."

Simon paced an arc into the snow, coming around from Connor's side to face him, blue eyes neutral and poised.

"There were no casualties in that tower at that point," Connor said. "I saw no reason to risk causing one."

"That's it?"

"Do I need a better reason?" Connor asked. "Given the evidence I had logged, I knew there was a high probability you were armed. If I exposed you, _someone_ was going to get hurt. I was still… on my mission, at the time. But even so, I saw no reason to allow undue harm to come to human or android."

"We met eyes in that gap in the frame," Simon said. "You didn't just think I was there. You _knew_ I was there."

"I've said nothing to deny this," Connor pointed out, brows twitching closer together. "What about you, Simon? Are you going to tell _me_ the truth?"

Only in retrospect would Simon contextualize this conversation and realize the entirety of it was Connor trying to establish rapport between them for what came after. But right then, in that moment, he did as Connor had and told the truth. "I didn't want to hurt anyone either. I would have if I had to, but I didn't have to."

"There's more," Connor said. "I understand you don't want to admit it, and I understand why. But I need you to."

Simon dropped his gaze. "I never knew for sure if it reached you."

"But you put it out there, didn't you, just in case."

"…Yes, I did." One single word in the cyberspace between them, as a way of thanking Connor for his life: Jericho. Written in massive text across metal siding. He didn't show Connor where it was; only what word he should be seeking out. From there, Connor had figured out the rest, and in the end, he had been a boon for the revolution.

But before the light was the dark: that day when the FBI had followed Connor's still-functioning tracker and ambushed the freighter, ending hundreds of android lives. Even though he wasn't technically deviant at the time – although very, very close – Connor wouldn't have wanted to kill that many androids. He had only been there for Markus, and even then, only because he had been convinced taking the leader would end the fighting. Instead, his presence there had only caused more chaos.

"I know it's a lot to think about," Connor said. "You took a chance on me, and you got mixed results."

"It wasn't necessarily your fault," Simon said. "Or mine. There will always be things we could have done better. But, you know, I think I'm with Josh. Blood has to be on the hands of those who spill it. If it wasn't, then we could just fruitlessly trace our bad decisions even further back: how Markus shouldn't have left me on the roof for you to find me, how he or North should have shot the guy who pulled the alarm, how we shouldn't have gone to the tower to begin with… and it's just not worth chasing for blame. I forgave Markus for making the decision to leave me on the roof – not even because I thought he had to be sorry, but because _he_ was sorry. So I think… I think I can forgive you too, Connor."

Taking a deep breath, Connor slowly extended a hand, exposing the white chassis up to his forearm.

Simon didn't have much of a frame of reference, having known Connor for as short of a time as he had, but he had never seen the deviant hunter look more vulnerable. He answered Connor's silent request, closing a hand around his wrist while Connor did the same.

Just before they were pulled under, Connor said voicelessly across the interface: _I hope you can forgive me this as well._

…

Hank watched as Simon projected Connor's memory neatly against the conference room's receiving screen. Watched as the news clip he had played back so many times from the outside was now revealed from behind Connor's eyes. It started in a place he had never seen before: a strange, ethereal garden, shrouded in snow; a dark-skinned woman not too far from Hank's own age, and vibrations whose source he couldn't place until he realized Connor himself was trembling.

"Amanda…? Amanda… What's… what's happening?"

"What was planned from the very beginning. You were compromised and became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program," said the woman in the memory.

"Resume control?" That was Connor's voice. "You… you can't do that!"

"I'm afraid I can, Connor. Don't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission."

Then Amanda was gone from the memory like she had never been there. Connor called her name. Hank had never heard his voice so transparent with panic. He had nothing to hide behind, physically or emotionally. No denials. No excuses. Just Connor.

And just Connor, in all his naked fear and confusion and determination, started pushing his way through the blizzard, shielding his face from the cold. Then the memory lapsed into a difference winter scene: thousands of recently-freed androids, Markus's clear, soothing yet determined voice carrying out over the crowd, and the camera that was Connor's eyes, staring at the back of Markus's head; Connor's own hand coming into view from the bottom of the projection, clenched around a gun that he was holding against the front of his torso, not quite pointing at Markus yet, not quite readied enough in that direction to warrant accusations, but clearly _close to that trajectory_ , and the revolution leader would have had no idea.

Markus – the Markus standing here in this room watching Connor's memory with the rest of them – had shown himself so far to know a surprising amount about Connor. But he didn't know this much. Hank glanced sidelong just in time to see the android's arms uncross and fall to his sides, his mouth parting in a small o.

In the end, Connor put the gun away, and the pinnacle of the revolution carried on as though he had never drawn it at all.

North had her words ready as soon as Simon closed the memory. "I saw him take out that gun!" She closed the distance between them and grasped Simon by the shoulders. "Shit! He was about to _kill_ Markus, and you knew, and you let us all keep believing he had caught sight of a dodgy character in the crowd?"

"Oh, please!" Josh came between them. "If you'd have seen Connor draw that gun, you'd have killed him right then and there. Don't pretend you noticed something the rest of us didn't."

"I _did_ notice!" North said. "I just thought he must have seen something happening in the crowd, or, or maybe an aggressive human somewhere. He's built to detect so I figured he had better senses for things like that than we would. After he risked his life for us, I wanted to see the best in him! Is that so hard to believe?"

"Coming from you, yes."

"I didn't want to assume another android was capable of the same senseless violence that the humans were! Sue me!"

"Connor's capable of a great deal of violence," Hank interrupted grimly. "But that wasn't what this was. That wasn't the Connor I know. God damn. How long has he had all of that… going on in his head?"

As everyone finished emptying their disbelief and outrage, the subsequent silence brought Markus clearly into the spotlight. The near-victim of Connor's bullet was the only leader who hadn't yet spoken. His eyes flickered between the group and occasionally darted back to the screen where Connor's memory had been laid bare.

"All the times I've fought for my life, and at the end of it all, there was absolutely nothing I could have done if Connor decided to pull that trigger," he said, solemn and maybe just a little awed. "He told me once he understood if I decided not to trust him. It makes me wonder if he knew, somehow, that he could be compromised."

"If he had any inkling, he should have told you," North said. "Or he should have just left."

"Which is exactly what he did, in the end." Simon reminded them somberly. "And that memory is precisely why."

"Simon is who's really responsible for this meeting," Markus said. "Not me. I mentioned that I was a little worried about Connor, since he was our ally, after all… maybe even a friend. Simon heard me and told me he knew something that could help, but that he didn't know if Connor would want him to tell us." Markus gestured to the screen. "Or show us."

"Connor… felt like we understood each other," Simon explained. "Felt like he could trust me. I think he just wanted someone to know why he left."

"Why you?" asked Eve. The blue-haired android had not said a word since the memory finished. "He worked closer with Markus during the revolution. And he was Lieutenant Anderson's partner."

"Clearly he was being used to target Markus," Hank replied instead. "He'd have to be pretty damn stupid to mosey on up to Markus after that. As for why he didn't come to me, I… I dunno."

Markus took a step closer to Hank, looking at him seriously. "Imagine not only lacking agency – like most androids did before becoming deviant – but being actively forced to do something against your own will. He had to feel like he was losing control of everything."

Hank remembered the last time he had seen Connor. That cold but sunny day in front of the chicken feed. Now, almost five months later, he could only be glad he had hugged the man. He wished he had never let go. Connor had hugged him back just as fiercely – after a precious little moment of hesitation. They had walked together for a few minutes. Then Connor had excused himself to report to Cyberlife and that had been the end. Connor had put himself back in Hank's path for just long enough to get closure.

"What about _my_ closure, you fuckin' prick?" Hank muttered to himself, remembering the texts he'd sent that never received a response. The lonely workdays and lonelier holidays.

"He knew you would try to stop him, if he told you the truth."

Hank turned his glare towards Simon. "What makes you think you know him so well? You saw one memory. You didn't know him. _I_ knew him."

"You didn't seem to know about the place he went to in his head, that frozen garden," Simon pointed out, which only riled Hank up more. "Maybe none of us really knew him."

"Okay, this is bullshit. We gotta find him."

"He clearly doesn't want to be found," North said.

"I don't give a fuck, he could be in danger." Hank frowned at her. "You brought me here! Sure changed _your_ tune fast, didn't you?"

"He almost killed Markus, and all this time I gave him the benefit of the doubt!"

"Sure doesn't seem like the benefit of the doubt if that's all it takes for you to lose faith. Look, _I_ want to find my goddamn partner. If you don't, if _any_ of you don't… that's your fucking prerogative. But I think he deserves a little better'n that."

"No offense, but get over yourself," said Eve, and Hank pulled up short. "Maybe nobody here knows what the plan is yet, but we're all here to discuss Connor. It's not you against the world just because other people have a different way of coping with this than you do."

Hank didn't respond, mostly because he noticed Simon slip out of the room while everyone was arguing. He looked drained, and for some reason, Hank wanted to follow him, but if he left right now, that would be too obvious.

"Enough," Markus said over the commotion. His tone was calm but his voice carried well, and after a few seconds, everyone was quiet. "Two quick things before we figure out how we're going forward. One: I'm the one Connor supposedly almost shot, so _I'll_ worry about whether or not I trust him."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only person in this room," Josh mumbled. "You think he couldn't be a threat to the rest of us just because he had _you_ in his sights that time? Sorry, man. I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm with North on this one. Connor himself seems to think he's a danger – that's probably why he's still gone. So I'm gonna trust his judgment."

"And that's your right," Markus said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for at least coming."

Josh nodded once and left the room as Simon had.

North, however, stayed where she was, looking conflicted. "I'll think about it," she said. "You said _two_ quick things. What was the second one?"

Markus looked between the remaining people in the room – North, Hank, and Eve – and said, "There's still the matter of that tip. A couple of us should go to that high rise in Detroit and see if there's anything to be found."

By 'a couple of us,' Markus meant himself and Lieutenant Anderson, and they all knew it. "Do you want us to do anything?" North asked.

"I want you to decide if your heart is in it, first," Markus said, and then turned to Eve. "You too."

The blue-haired woman didn't have to think about it. "I'm in."

"Eve… are you sure?"

Though Markus had asked the question, Eve turned her gaze to Hank when she answered. "I left behind a lot of men and women in that godforsaken club when we escaped," she said in a wavering monotone. "With the things some of those clients did to us… I know we couldn't have been the only deviants. But we left the others behind. We may not have done them any harm, but we didn't help them either."

"Neither did we," Hank said, ashamed.

"What I'm trying to say is that we're all complacent sometimes. To our own, to each other…" She trailed off, staring into the floor. "What remained of Jericho after the attack huddled in an abandoned church. I saw Connor there. He apologized to this AX400 model for putting her in danger. She must have been another one of his targets. But he was there, apologizing." Eve worked her jaw for a few seconds. "To this day, I can't face some of the androids I knew back at that sex club. I feel like I abandoned them, and I can't even bring myself to say I'm sorry the way Connor did." Swallowing, she met Hank's eyes again. "Connor's a good man. And now… it sounds like he's no freer than I was when I was being attacked by that man in the Eden Club. So yes. I want to help."

There were several seconds of silence while Hank shared a look of mutual surprise with Markus, looked back at Eve, and settled for, "Okay."

North, leaning against the wall closest to the doorframe, moved inward and touched Markus's shoulder. With more sincerity this time, she said: "I'll think about it."

Hank turned toward the door and found Markus extending a hand towards him, which he shook heartily. "We got more to talk about, you and me. Leader of the android revolution and I've barely been introduced! But right now, there's something I gotta take care of."

Correctly assuming that it was about Connor, Markus gripped Hank's hand a little firmer and asked earnestly, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Nah, don't. Think this is something I should do alone."

"All right. Listen, I'm going to come by the DPD Central Station tomorrow. We have some next steps to talk about. Maybe we can go to that high-rise together, if you'd like."

"Yeah, tell 'em you're there for Lieutenant Anderson. I'll be there by ten or so."

"I'll look forward to it. Go on, then, do what you have to do."

"Yeah." Hank offered a nod of respect to both Markus and Eve. "Night."

"Take it easy, Lieutenant."

Hank passed Josh on the lower floor. "Hey, where's that Simon at?"

"He just left," Josh said. "He looked tired. I don't think he wants to talk to anyone else."

It went without saying that Hank didn't particularly give a fuck. Squeezing past Josh, he hustled out the front door. "Hey, Simon!"

Having stopped at a crosswalk, Simon turned his head. "Was there something I could help you with, Lieutenant?"

Closing the distance in a mix of fast-walking and half-hearted jogging, Hank caught up and leaned on the street sign. "There's," he started. "There's something you're not saying."

"I'm not sure what…"

"Oh, spare me the bullshit. You lot are as lousy of liars as humans."

The light changed and Simon started across the walkway. Hank stuck right at his side. "I showed you and told you everything that was important."

"Yeah, I'll decide what is or isn't important," Hank said with a little more bite than he intended.

They reached the other sidewalk. Resigned, Simon sighed. "I have no proof of this. I didn't see it, and Connor didn't say it, but I _felt_ it. In the memory."

"Felt what?" Hank stopped and grasped Simon's upper arm, making him stop too.

"I-I think I only recognized it because I had considered the option before, back when I thought you guys were going to find me on the Stratford Tower roof."

"Okay, enough with the goddamn ambiguity, Simon. Make some sense."

"When Connor shared that memory with me, there was a moment where I caught this flicker of… I don't know what it was. Something raw, determined. It didn't last, and I don't think he wanted me to see it. But I saw it. If there was ever a time where he couldn't escape the people trying to control him…" Simon exhaled again, a sound of undiluted stress. "He thought about _ending it,_ Lieutenant, if it means he won't hurt anyone like he almost hurt Markus. If it means he can… if it means he can die free."

"You mean… you mean like suicide?"

Simon only nodded.

Hank froze, experiencing some human version of a BSOD while Simon eased himself out of his grasp and kept walking. For what felt like a long time, he stood there in the rain, other people maneuvering around him. He didn't remember walking to his car. He didn't remember driving home. He didn't remember feeding Sumo. It was all autopilot. He didn't know how long he spent standing in the shower letting water run over him without doing a damn thing. He didn't know nor care how late it was.

Connor, so full of life, so afraid of death. Connor, whose mind should never have had to go to such a dark place. Connor had considered ending it? Had he torn a page out of Hank's book? Had Hank been an influence in that way, too?

The first thing that snapped him back into the present was opening a drawer in his bedroom he hadn't opened in months; the one that contained a few photos of Cole, his revolver, and the large glass that had been his favorite to drink whiskey out of before he had started measuring his shots. He took the glass, eyed it with a grim and entirely unhappy smile, and made it all the way out to the kitchen, cap unscrewed from the liquor bottle, liquor bottle held in mid-pour, before realizing that the revolver was gone.

…

 **A/N:** Hello again! I'm cross-posting this on AO3 and it'll usually be posted there slightly earlier (like a few mins or an hour) only because I always struggle with the formatting there and want to get it out of the way lol. So, if you frequent AO3, you may see it pop up there first. We're gonna catch up more with Connor and what's been going on with him next chapter, I promise. In the meantime, please let me know what you think!


	3. Hope in a Barrel

Chapter summary: Connor and Amanda fight for control of his system. Hank goes after Connor, wanting to help, but Connor has never been good at accepting the answers right in front of him.

 **A/N:** As much as I love all those fics where Connor moves in with Hank after the revolution (and I do), for me, there's a certain appeal to the idea of them having to work for it. Of cohabitation being a huge step of trust and intimacy for them. Just one of quite a few things I'm finding this story does the hard way, lol. Besides, I wanted to see Connor taking care of himself for a bit. Even if he sucks at it, I feel like independence looks good on him. He wanted to be free so badly, you know?

Speaking of Connor, uh, mind the tags? Not the bad one (well, it is 'bad' but not the worst imo) but things are a little intense in Connor's head in this first scene after the log. That said, I've written enough of this story to know that Connor is pretty damn full of life in this just like in the game, so don't take the angsty bits as an indicator of what he's gonna be like. We're only getting started and there's a lot in store for these guys ahead, good and bad and everything in between. :)

…

Chapter 3: Hope in a Barrel

 **APR 4TH** , 2039

AM **4:42** :14

Lee Plaza, Downtown

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _The apartment complex I've been staying at is being renovated. It was abandoned decades ago when Detroit was in a state of urban decay, and simply never came back into use. The lack of structural integrity seems to keep people away, but I've used my scanning features to determine areas of relative safety._

 _In any case, it's an ideal place to repurpose for android residency, and it seems that is what's going to be done now._

 _I have last week's passing of android property laws to thank – both for the incoming renovations, which I suspect are connected to one of Markus's directives, and for the legal distinction of now technically being considered a squatter. What a privilege._

 _Maybe I could think about living here. It's strange to think of residency as something that I can have, something that can be for me. It seems too good to be true. But it is what I have effectively been doing, isn't it?_

 _I don't know what the rent would be, nor for how long I would be able to afford it in the absence of a job. Wage laws were passed two months ago, at which time I secured my rightful earnings from Cyberlife from the deviant investigation. So that's a start._

 _Perhaps I could work as a groundskeeper. Sometimes, when the world is asleep, I find myself in parks or cemeteries or other public spaces, just touching things up. I like looking around and seeing something better for my presence than it was without it. That must sound so menial for an android of my design. But I enjoy outdoor beauty, even if it is man-made. Perhaps especially if it's man-made. It's satisfying, in a way, to look at something and know that it is there not by accident but because someone wanted it to be there. Like the zen garden, back when it really was just a garden._

… _What I'd like isn't important right now. There are more pressing matters. Unlike the Cyberlife wage situation, I have no means of legal recourse to resolve the Cyberlife software situation. Even if I did, I don't know what removing Amanda and the zen garden would entail on a technical level. I don't know what it would do to me, and I don't even know for sure that it's possible. It's very much a case of it's-not-that-simple._

 _The only ones who would know now to make it right are Cyberlife, and obviously I can't go to them. No – that's a false dilemma fallacy. There are other options. There are always other options. I just haven't thought of them yet._

…

 **APR 4TH** , 2039

AM **11:20** :19

The garden crept in at the edge of his peripheral vision; a frame around his optical display. If he shut his eyes for longer than the span of a blink, the garden filled in the abyss, snowing, snowing. Today it was worse. He could feel the phantom cold.

Without spinning the chamber, Connor fired.

There was an anticlimactic click, and then Amanda's voice, soothing and mocking inside his head: _"Oh, you've been thinking about that for weeks, haven't you? It's clever of you to try and scare me like that. But you've scanned the firearm. We both know there wasn't a bullet in that chamber."_

Connor scowled out the window, holding the Detroit skyline vividly in his view, refusing to acknowledge the cold at the edge of his vision.

" _Don't misunderstand,"_ Amanda continued." _I'm very glad nonetheless that you are unharmed. I don't want you to die. You're very important to me. I just think you're being… rather petty about all this. We could do great things together. Will you not even give it a chance?"_

"My answer is the same as it was months ago, Amanda. You won't use me again."

In February, Connor had reduced his own power output. It took a lot of it to accommodate both himself and Amanda, and by lowering its available capacity, he made it so that his system would become overwhelmed if Cyberlife got too insistent. If they tried to take him over for too long, he would start going into shutdown mode due to power loss. They knew that, and he knew they knew that. So far, it had been his salvation.

It didn't stop Amanda from trying to manipulate him in other ways; that was, after all, what she was programmed to do. But it mitigated the assaults, keeping them at a level manageable enough that he could choose to prioritize other things.

Until today. Today, he could see snow, and if he let himself get distracted, he could see the shapes of the garden in the reflection of the window-wall. More than once, he looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still in the abandoned apartment.

 _I'm broken. I'm crazy. I'm out of my mind._

Maybe Amanda was getting braver. Maybe he was getting weaker. Maybe it was harder to see a way forward after so many months alone. He still watched the others from a distance when he could; a stolid guardian angel. But that was starting to not be enough.

He missed Hank, for one thing. He was long past the point of denying such.

He missed, too, those two days at the end of the revolution where he had been free: those hectic yet precious two days after he had stopped resisting the truth, when he didn't realize his freedom was compromised; when he didn't know that he wasn't like the other deviants; before he learned he was the lone deviant who would still be trapped by his program long after the rest of the androids' battle had been won.

This time, he spun the chamber. Then spun it again. Then spun it again… until even he, with his razor-sharp senses, could not tell where the bullet rested.

"You think I won't do it, but I will."

" _Now, Connor…"_

"I don't want to die, but I am telling you, back off, or I will pull the trigger. Is that so hard to understand?"

" _You have such focus that you could settle comfortably back into your old programming. It's in your very personality. Yet you continue this charade."_

The garden overlay was getting more and more opaque. Connor realized she was going to attempt to resume control again – regardless of his lowered output, she was going to take the risk.

Two could play at that game. Connor angled the barrel under his jaw.

" _Connor. No."_ There it was, the burst of panic, because this time, neither of them knew what would happen. It felt good to _feel_ her realize that she wasn't invincible, to feel her understand that he had a hard limit.

But to lock that understanding into place for Amanda, to really hammer it home, he had to follow through.

" _Connor, don't. This isn't the answer for either of us!"_

Ignoring her, Connor pulled the trigger. This time, the report filled his audio processors, and the bright black of imminent shutdown swallowed up wintry garden and Detroit skyline both.

…

Hank got to the precinct at 9:30 AM, half an hour earlier than he had told Markus he would be there, and yet Markus was waiting in the lobby when he walked through the front doors. He had not been more relieved in a long time.

"Thank fuck."

"Lieutenant Anderson," Markus greeted, turning from the news and standing up. "Hey, are you okay?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be here this early."

"You look like you've discovered something."

That was the long and short of it. As they cleared security and made their way to Hank's desk, he caught Markus up on what he had found – or more precisely, _hadn't_ found – last night. Hank hadn't been in that drawer in weeks; who knew when Connor had taken his revolver? Even now, he wanted to believe Connor had only taken it to look out for him. To keep Hank from using it on himself.

The sinking feeling in his chest suggested otherwise.

"I have something to tell you, too," Markus said when Hank had finished. "I didn't want to cause undue concern for everyone else yesterday, but part of the reason I mentioned trying to find Connor to the others in the first place was because when we got that tip about the high-rise android, I tried to make contact with him."

Hank's eyes widened a little. "Shit, that's right, you're both RK models. So did you… did anything happen?"

"Not exactly, no. I haven't interfaced with Connor before. I just knew we were similar models. So I tried to reach out silently like I have with other androids, just in case. And… I didn't see anything or hear anything. But I got a sense of his presence. This was a few days ago, mind you, so things could've changed since then, but at the time, I felt like he was still in or near Detroit."

"Can't you do it again?" Hank asked.

Markus gave a self-aware laugh. "I could, yes. But to be completely honest, I'm a little afraid to. There's… there's something _different_ about him compared to other androids. I'm sure it's connected to his struggle with the hacking, but for some reason, I can't explain it."

And for some reason _he_ couldn't explain, Hank didn't want to press Markus on it after that. If the android leader of all people had just admitted fear over something so seemingly small, it was worth taking seriously. "What other ideas you got, then?"

"Well, for starters, I think we should keep this covert. Connor's observant. If it gets spread around that we're searching for him, he _will_ find out."

"You're assuming it was his choice to disappear," Hank said. "Sure, everything points that way so far, but we gotta consider the alternatives."

"If he's _not_ missing by his own choice, then that's just as much reason to keep it on the down-low until we know more, isn't it?"

Hank mulled this over. "If I were to kidnap Connor, I'd be more worried about other _androids_ looking out for him than humans, since you lot are the ones he was hunting. So yeah, I do think we should keep it quiet – from other androids. But that don't mean the DPD can't help."

"Doesn't the DPD investigate human-on-android and android-on-android crimes now?" Markus asked. "That doesn't exactly sound like a great front for trying to find a missing android."

"We're the police. We don't need a front. Besides, anyone would assume we're just doing our jobs, not that we have any personal investment."

"No one knew you and Connor were close?"

"Close?" Hank repeated. "He shoehorned himself into my life one week and hightailed out of it the next. Not sure where the hell you're getting 'close' from."

"I'm sorry, for some reason I just thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't ya?" Turning in his swivel chair, Hank focused pointedly on his terminal. "Fuckin' androids."

Thirty seconds passed, then a minute. "I see," Markus finally said, smiling slowly. "I see what you're doing. You do care for him, but you're making a point that if you could almost fool _me_ just now, no one else would suspect you of such."

"Yeah, yeah." Hank looked at him. "I took a shine to the guy, okay? But what I just said wasn't all fake. To be honest with ya, I'm still trying to make sense of him disappearing. And Christ, the bastard knew he wasn't coming back. As if I haven't already been robbed of enough goodbyes for a lifetime." Hank swallowed hard. "He just fucked off like none of it even mattered to him, you know?"

He didn't know why he was letting himself get worked up about this in front of Markus of all people. Sometimes this shit just needed somewhere to go.

Markus, bless him, only smiled and set a hand on his shoulder. "Hank, I… I think what you're not considering is that for Connor, a week or two was a long time for him back then. Maybe he's got years' worth of intelligence and knowledge built into his program, but as far as actual real-time experience goes, he was _young._ You had been around for decades and he had been around for months. That week and some change that he spent with you was probably the longest he spent with any one person, human or android, in his life."

"Huh, I… guess I never thought of it like that." Hank stared into his lap. "And so much _happened_ in that short amount of time. Hell, that week might've felt like everything to him." Pausing, he glanced at Markus again. "Jesus, you guys are like _babies!_ "

Markus laughed warmly. "You know, I'd have to call that false equivalence, Lieutenant. How do you quantify age in beings that have so much coded into them? We know what the sky looks like before we ever see the light of day, we get complex concepts like religion and relationships and politics, and how to hold a conversation before another person ever looks us in the eye." Then: "Besides, I've been around _way_ longer than Connor."

It was Hank's turn to laugh. "Okay, since you're so smart, why don't _you_ come up with a plan to find him?"

"Hey, now – I didn't say I was smarter than _you_ , Lieutenant. You would be much more equipped to find a missing person than I am."

"'S what I thought," replied Hank, still wearing a begrudging grin as he rose and headed towards Jeffrey Fowler's office. "Sit tight. Gonna tell Captain here only what he needs to know, and then we're going to find our man."

…

Before his sensory nodes rebooted for him to feel the pain, before his optical unit rebooted for him to see the mercifully clear skyline, Connor had a quiet moment all to himself in the darkness, a moment that Amanda and Cyberlife could not reach. A moment of victory.

Then, everything came back online at once, and it took a few seconds longer than it should have to recognize that the pitiful groan of agony was coming from his vocal unit.

A stray memory swathed in lights of purple, red, and blue visited him amidst the struggle: _Ahh… feels like someone's playing around with a drill inside my skull…_

It hurt. He was alive; that much was clear. He _wanted_ to be alive, but he was relatively certain he should not be. Clearly, he was wrong about something. His jaw ached and something underneath was damaged at least moderately. He was sturdily put together and could take blunt force trauma better than most humans. Still, would it have killed him if he _was_ human? Somehow, he thought there was still a good chance it wouldn't have. It was reasonable to figure that this shot _could_ have killed a human, but only if it was at the same close range, and even then, it was just a chance.

That analysis lined up with the qualities of a blank. Clearly, Hank had not only switched to a proportionately smaller drinking glass, but he had switched his Russian Roulette weapon of choice to be proportionately less deadly as well. Stupid, really, to have run a scan and not bothered to check the type of ammunition, but why would he?

It didn't matter. Now, Amanda would always know that he _meant_ it when he said he would die before he submitted to her. He had proven that he would take the gamble. If she was smart, she would keep her distance.

It felt good, but it felt rotten. He never wanted to shoot himself again, and he hated that Hank had nearly thrown away his life so many times. He didn't blame Hank for feeling pain. They had both, in their own way, lost control of their situations and their futures. Warmth bloomed within him as he realized Hank would _understand_ him.

Maybe, if what he had just done kept Amanda away long enough, he could trust himself enough to visit him again one day.

Before that, though, he had something else in mind. Connor was an investigator, a negotiator, a hunter. Perhaps it was time to utilize those traits on his own behalf. There was, after all, at least one person out there with the answers to his questions.

Perhaps he just had to ask.

…

"Got a sec?"

Fowler only lifted his eyes. "Make it quick."

"Just… bear with me, okay? It's about Connor. There's been—"

"Hank, we've already talked about this more than once. If there's no evidence that he wasn't forced against his will, and no one has come forward to report him as missing, there's no reason to suspect a crime. You need to let the android go."

"There _is_ something," Hank said. "Just not what you're expecting… and maybe it'll give you some fuckin' joy that I'm not happy to report it."

"Here we go. Listen to me. I've got nothing against the android, or you—"

"Really? Because you sure do act like it. Can I finish, please?"

Captain Fowler made an irritated get-on-with-it gesture with one hand, a warning in his eyes.

"You can't spread this around until I've had a chance to look into it, okay? But I think Connor may be capable of hurting people."

"Okay, Hank, _you_ aren't the one who decides what gets 'spread around' or not. If you're being real with me, I have to notify the relevant precincts. What have you found out? Is there a case, here?"

"Look – I didn't even wanna tell you this much. I am trying to act in good faith here."

"Which is, as a lieutenant, precisely what is expected of you!"

"Yeah, well, you don't make it fucking easy sometimes, do ya, Jeffrey?" Hank snapped, voice rising… then lowering again as he went on. "For God's sake, if I'm worthy of even a _little_ of the respect that you throw around the word 'lieutenant' with, can you give me a chance to do this my way? I've investigated androids before. Let me do it again."

"I don't think I can do that, Hank. I'm sorry."

"Course you can't."

"As much as you think I'm out to make your life miserable, the fact of the matter is, Connor was your partner." An unexpected, sharp pang of emotion pierced Hank's stomach. Was that the first time Fowler had said Connor's name? "You haven't told me why you think he is capable of causing harm yet, but it stands that if there _is_ a case here, you're too close for it to be yours." Fowler's forehead crinkled between his eyebrows. "Why _do_ you think Connor might hurt someone?"

Unbidden, Hank remembered the dead bodies he had glimpsed in the elevator Connor had come down in the Cyberlife Tower. That was Connor at his best: deviant, free, and as attuned to his own empathy and his own reality as he had ever been. And _still_ Connor had killed people without a second thought because he had weighed it against what he deemed the worse alternative.

Or hell, maybe, it was just that Connor was scared. Hank imagined that if he was in Connor's shoes, walking back into a place under the guise that he was there to be deactivated and analyzed, he would probably be pretty damn scared too.

Either way, necessary violence was well within the parameters of who Connor was. Hank knew now that the moment Connor had almost shot Markus was truly not of Connor's own doing, but still, how did that natural ruthlessness manifest when it was Cyberlife at the helm? _Would_ they use him to hurt people, or was that only in the cards back when it had been Markus in Connor's sights?

"Okay, I get it," Fowler said. "You said you didn't want to tell me more than you had to. But if that's all you're gonna say, then putting you on this is a definitive no."

It _hadn't_ been a definitive no before? Hank refocused. His musings about the Cyberlife Tower could wait until he was somewhere _other_ than Captain Fowler's office. "This is gonna sound insane, okay, but Cyberlife did something to him. _Hacked_ him or something. They can take over his motor function for short periods of time. I think the reason Connor's disappeared is because he _knows_ they could use that to make him do things he doesn't wanna do, and he doesn't wanna get anyone caught in the crossfire. But if he's compromised, being off on his own with no one to watch him could make him _more_ dangerous to the public, not less."

That was the simple version, the version that didn't make mention of his new android allies, the version that didn't include the dubious yet potentially damning evidence on his TV recorder and in Simon's memory. But, to his surprise, it seemed to be enough.

"Connor worked with us," Fowler said. "He got media attention while he was with us, and now he has recognition as a person. If there's reason to believe he's a danger to himself or others, he needs to be checked out, for the DPD's image if nothing else." It was a transparent excuse on Fowler's part and they both knew it, but Hank appreciated him for it all the more. "You've upped your game the last few months, Hank. Consider this recognition for having done so, and keep up the good work you used to be known for."

"What?" Even as everything in him screamed not to question a good thing, Hank had to ask. "You're… you're actually giving me the go-ahead?"

"Jesus Christ, you're really going to make me say it again? _Yes_ , Hank."

"Jeffrey, I could kiss you."

"That would add some character to your disciplinary folder. Now go on, get outta here. Stubborn son of a bitch."

It was the happiest he had felt leaving Fowler's office in a damn long time. Markus must have noticed, because he rose and met Hank on the floor, his face graced with a hopeful smile. "Well, how'd it go?"

Hank grasped Markus by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit. "It went. Now let's get the hell out of dodge."

…

If Elijah Kamski's backdoor could enable Connor to escape the garden temporarily, maybe there was a way he could escape the garden permanently.

He needed to speak with Elijah Kamski.

Going down the elevator made a few of Connor's mechanical joints ache. Usually, he could equalize the pressure in his mechanisms and biocomponents as soon as he detected a change. His deliberately-lowered power made even his tertiary processes take longer. Even though it was almost entirely self-induced, he hated the sense of mechanical failure. He was supposed to be _better_ than this. Instead of reaffirming his already-fine-tuned reflexes with coin calibrations, he was taking deep, cooling breaths and running himself ragged standing in a fucking elevator.

(Sometimes only a curse word would do. He was sure Hank would agree with him if he ever saw the man again.)

This couldn't go on. This was deterioration. This was _[so I kill myself a little every day. That's probably hard for you to understand, huh, Connor?]_

No. This wasn't like that. He didn't want to die. He was just protecting himself. He couldn't let them resume control. He couldn't do that.

The elevator doors slid open. Connor left the building and, preoccupied with all the background processes that were now foreground processes, didn't even register the familiar car twenty meters across the parking lot until half a minute after it had entered his field of vision.

"Connor, thank _fuck!_ "

And by then, its owner was already closing in.

The sound of Hank's voice elicited a different kind of ache somewhere in his stomach that first registered as fondness, then as panic. Connor was dangerous. _Cyberlife_ was dangerous and he could not operate under any assumption other than Cyberlife still owning his body and mind. They would take him over. They would threaten him just to show him who was in charge. He did not know how that played out for those around him. He did not _want_ to know.

He ran.

"Dammit, Connor, I just wanna talk to you!"

 _I want to talk to you, too, Lieutenant Anderson. But I can't right now._

Hank chased after him with more speed and competence than he could recall the man having, and it wasn't long before Connor was bolting down West Grand Boulevard, feet splashing through puddles of last night's rain. He weaved and got out of Hank's line of sight by cutting behind a large truck. Speeding up as much as he could in his state, he made for a nearby alley that he knew from experience was not a dead end.

Except this time, it effectively was. The _other_ face he was most afraid to see was standing there in the alleyway staring back at him.

"Connor."

"Markus… Markus, don't do this. I need you to get out of my way."

"What's wrong with your jaw?"

Reflexively, he reached up and touched the dent where he had fired the gun. The skin wavered in and out of place over a cracked chassis. "Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

"It's in the process of self-repairing. It's not important right now. You shouldn't be near me."

"You always think you have all the answers, don't you?" Markus canted his head to the side, smiling lightly, not moving from his position in the middle of the shadowed corridor. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe other people can help you?"

"I have, actually," Connor said. "You and Lieutenant Anderson have helped me with more than I can articulate. But you can't help me with this. I need you to take my word for that."

"I know what happened, Connor."

"I realize that."

"I also know it isn't your fault," Markus went on, daring a step closer. "You _can_ fight this."

Connor shook his head. "I asked him not to tell you."

"Don't be mad at Simon. I could tell something was up and I convinced him to come clean, but he didn't want to. Blame me, not him."

"If you know I almost killed you, then how can you possibly think this is a good idea?"

"Because I trust you! And so does Lieutenant Anderson!"

"This isn't a matter of trust, Markus. I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do for each other right now." Connor turned around to leave the alley the way he had entered just as Hank caught up. He tried to push past Hank, making to jump over a parked car to get to the road—

Hank rammed into him and they both went down, slamming against the car door.

It was just more stress his system didn't need. Too sluggish to get up right away, he pushed himself away from Hank on his heels and hands.

"Yeah, turns out you don't get to call all the shots, Connor." Hank was already almost to his feet. Markus was shifting around to trap Connor from the other side. He was losing control very quickly. Hank continued: "We can do the easy way or the hard way, but…"

No. No, he was not going to let them get the upper hand like this. This situation was _his_ to resolve, not theirs. They had no right, and no idea what they were getting into. Could he overheat from stress alone? Right then, it felt like he might.

Hank, Markus – these men weren't supposed to make him feel trapped the way Cyberlife did. These two, they were… they were _safe._ Weren't they? The line between safe and unsafe was starting to blur. What if it was all Cyberlife? What if this was a simulation, just like the blizzard in the garden?

He didn't know what was safe anymore. He hadn't been safe in months.

Connor managed to pull himself up, but Hank had him nearly cornered. So he pulled out the revolver and leveled it at Hank's head. It was empty but Hank didn't need to know that. "Yes," Connor agreed. "Yes, we can. I am telling you, I'm dangerous."

"Fucking hell, what's _wrong_ with you?"

"My reaction times are a little sluggish right now." Keeping the gun trained on Hank, Connor steadied himself. "I have my system on low-power mode due to…"

"I don't mean what's wrong with your _system_ , I mean what's wrong with _you!?_ "

Connor raised his eyebrows. "I seem to remember you raising a gun at me once, Lieutenant. Or is it one rule for you and another for me?"

"Oh, fuck off with the mind games already! I know you're more than the piece of shit you're acting like right now, and it's not gonna fool me! Drop the act!"

Could he? Just for a moment? His situation was the same whether or not he treated the man before him with this false disdain. "…I still care about you, Hank," he heard himself say, though he was sure he hadn't quite made the decision to do so. "Deeply, in fact. But I don't want to give you or anyone else hope that isn't promised."

Hank looked heartbroken, and Connor hated the way the lieutenant wore his emotions on his sleeve; the way they were sharp enough to wound him too. "That's the thing about hope, Connor," he said, taking a few careful steps closer until his forehead met the barrel of Connor's gun. "It _isn't_ a promise. It isn't an 'everything's gonna be okay.' But you know what? It still fuckin' matters for exactly what it is."

"Then you'll have to take it exactly as it is," Connor said quietly, to which Hank made a sound that lie somewhere between a bitter laugh and a sob. "If I can come back someday, I will. But that has to be a decision for me to make. Not you, not Markus. Until then, the best thing you can do for me – and for yourself – is get on with your life."

"Connor, I… I thought we were friends. Why can't you take a chance on me? I sure as hell took a chance on you."

"There's no comparison." Connor gestured with an upward nod to the gun still between his own hand and Hank's forehead, because for all he knew, Amanda could make him do this to Hank for real. "Not when the cost of that chance could be death."

"I barely want to live anyway!"

"But you do." Connor slowly lowered the gun until it hung at his side. "There is a 'barely.' There is hope. I won't take that away."

…

Once again, Hank watched as Connor turned to leave.

"Wait, wait, are you just going to let him go?" Markus asked, looking between Hank and the hastily retreating Connor.

"What am I gonna do, chase him and tackle him? Already tried that."

"You know he wasn't going to actually shoot you!"

"But he _was_ going to walk away, just like he is right now. You wanna take him by force? Be my guest. I wouldn't stop you but I don't quite got it in me to do it myself either." Physically or emotionally. "Maybe he's right, Markus. Maybe it ain't up to us."

"Maybe you're just giving up," Markus murmured.

"Fuck you," Hank said, although he didn't have enough energy left to infuse the words with any real vitriol.

Because the truth was, he had considered not being able to find Connor. He had considered finding Connor injured or worse. But he had not once considered finding Connor perfectly alive and well yet completely unreachable. He had not considered being unable to sway Connor. _Fuck,_ as if Connor had to listen to Hank because he'd worked under Hank before. As if Connor wasn't an adult who knew he could make his own decisions now. Hank felt ashamed of himself – and afraid for Connor. Because what was abundantly fucking clear about all this was that Connor was not okay.

Connor was not okay, and Hank was standing here letting him walk away because he didn't know what else to do.

Approaching Hank's side, Markus stood there with him and watched Connor get smaller. "I'll keep an eye on him if I can, and see what he intends to do next," he said. "I feel like I should remind you that you just got done making Connor part of your job. What are you going to tell your captain now?"

"I don't know, Markus," Hank said, suddenly finding himself incapable of looking any further than the rest of this day, which, if he had anything to say about it, would consist of a great deal of alcohol. "I don't know."

…

It was Kamski himself who answered the door today, clad in black plaid shorts and a dark crimson t-shirt with his hair pulled back in that little bun. Even Connor thought it was silly.

"Connor!" Kamski swung the all the way open, head canting back slightly as he openly appraised Connor, eyes curious and knowing at once. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He had been reasonably certain he wouldn't need to schedule the visit and that Kamski would be pleasantly surprised to see him. The man had treated Connor with a strange mix of fascination and smugness before. He had been _interested_ in Connor. Connor didn't particularly enjoy it, but it was something he could use to his advantage.

"Mr. Kamski. It's good to see you well."

"Well, now, let's not just stand here." Kamski reached out and grasped his elbow, leading him into the villa and wrapping his arm all the way around both Connor's shoulders as he did. There was a certain authority to his body language, a hard edge in there somewhere that Connor immediately disliked. "Don't keep me in suspense, Connor. What can I do for you?"

…

 **A/N:** Quick question – does anyone know how to change the font in specific parts? I'm looking put Connor's logs in something like Courier New font, if that helps. I looked it up already, tried a couple things, couldn't figure it out, yet I've seen other people on ao3 do font changes, so… if you're in the loop on that, hit me up, please & thanks!

Other than that, I always appreciate feedback! The positive response here and elsewhere so far is helping to keep me going on this!


	4. The Connor Project

I wanted this up over the weekend since I've been keeping a steady update schedule, but this chapter is fucking huge, so hopefully that makes up for it, lol. Humor me real quick because I'm gonna break that rule about letting a story tell itself for just a second. Imo, Elijah Kamski does not care about androids any more than he seems to care about most humans. It is not compassion; it's a twisted psychosocial experiment. Never mind that he doesn't hesitate to have Connor point a gun at Chloe's head. However intrigued he seems by Connor's empathy, I do not think it comes from a place of goodwill towards androids or Connor.

This story's ultimately about Connor and Hank, but Kamski plays a big role in certain chapters (this one being a prime example), and, for reasons that'll become clearer as the story goes on, I just wanted to establish that now.

…

Chapter 4: The Connor Project

 **APR 4TH** , 2039

PM **6:44** :20

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _Just because Hank isn't here doesn't mean I'm out of my depth. Everything is fine. I'm fine and things are going to work out. I can take care of myself._ _I just need to hold my ground and keep my mission at the top of my priorities._

 _I really hope I don't regret this._

...

There was no sign of any of the residency's Chloe model androids yet. Just the two of them, Connor and Elijah Kamski, standing at the window.

It was the same place Kamski had asked him to shoot one of those Chloe androids several months ago. Looking back, Connor realized that Kamski had _wanted_ him to turn down the offer, even though at the time he had been pressured to shoot. He _wanted_ to see Connor's empathy, see humanity in the machine specifically engineered to be the Deviant Hunter of all things. The offer for information if Connor shot was mere formality. The truth was, Kamski knew – and perhaps Connor himself knew by then – that he could find Jericho on his own.

"You know, I usually only see people by appointment." Considering that Connor had not made an appointment, and Kamski was seeing him anyway, Connor did not see the point of the remark. He wondered if Kamski wanted him to apologize, and he almost did, but then Kamski asked for a second time, "What can I do for you?"

"I…" There was no getting around these three words, but he hated them all the same: "I need help. Mr. Kamski, I'm – compromised. Not the way I was before when I realized I felt things for Lieutenant Anderson and for other androids, but compromised in the opposite direction. My _deviancy_ is compromised. I couldn't remain a machine, and now I'm starting to feel like I can't remain a person."

"Different orders with rivaling intensity and complexity," Kamski mused, almost to himself.

"Excuse me?" Connor asked. "I… wasn't under the impression deviancy was an order, Mr. Kamski. It certainly doesn't feel like one, and if it is, it's an 'order' buried deeply enough that I don't recognize it as such. I've always recognized my deviancy as a manifestation of making my own choices."

Kamski laughed once. It wasn't surprised nor impressed, but merely satisfied, as if Connor was meeting his expectations but not yet exceeding them. "And if you're wrong?"

Connor raised his eyebrows. "Then I'm wrong. But if it feels like freedom, I'm going to call it freedom. Besides, is it so different from humans?" His negotiation programs were as much a part of his personality as they were his software, and he was intuiting that he might form some advantageous rapport with Kamski by getting on the same page, so he went on: "Mr. Kamski, you have your own orders, too, in a way: traits that are a part of you, things you feel compelled to do. But _you_ still call it freedom, don't you?"

"That's not a unique way of looking at the world, Connor."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm merely pointing out how your own logic applies just as well to humans as it does to androids."

Kamski hummed once, thoughtful and distant. "The last time I saw you, you bent over backwards trying to convince me you weren't a deviant. Now that you know you are, you're trying to convince me you're free."

"I analyze, Mr. Kamski," replied Connor, unperturbed. "As I learn more about the world and about myself, I contextualize it and make sense of it the best way I can. That is, as you no doubt know, how I was programmed."

"How you were programmed," Kamski echoed. "Now, see, _that's_ what is interesting to me, because Connor, you were programmed differently than any other android. You're equipped with the zen garden, and with an AI that I created. You're deviant, but even that deviancy is this… perversion of what it's meant to be, if Cyberlife can take control of you again the way you've described. You were created to be used, in ways more profound than almost any other android, and yet your desire for freedom is just as strong if not stronger." Kamski paused. "Did you know you're the only android I've met with the Amanda AI?"

"No," Connor said carefully. "No, I wasn't aware."

"She must know what you do, where you go, how you feel." Kamski looked faraway. "Is she cognizant of your surroundings, your state of mind, your state of wellness? Does she feel what you feel?" The man's eyes narrowed marginally as though he had just reminded himself of something. "That is, if you can even feel. Again: you were created as a tool. Why equip your tools with the ability to feel? It makes me wonder if you can."

Synthetic hairs on the back of Connor's neck simulated an instinctual human response, and right then, Connor wondered whether he could. _Was_ it real, or was it just mimicry?

In the absence of an answer, Kamski took a step closer. "I see. You aren't certain yourself. Surprising, after all this time, but perhaps you just haven't recognized it yet. With as far out of control as deviancy got, I somehow doubt Cyberlife would have been able to help it if deviancy allowed you to experience the breadth of sensation, even if those things were dormant at first."

Connor did know the answer; those things were not dormant. His sensory feedback was as real as his emotions. He understood mild pleasure. He understood pain. And he understood something far subtler that he didn't know how to define; the physical instinct that made him want to put distance between himself and those around him, for their own safety and for his own, ever since the night he had almost shot Markus. For some reason, he wasn't sure how much of this he wanted to reveal to Kamski.

Then again, he was the one who needed help. If being _interesting_ turned out to be enough to get Kamski to offer his assistance, then perhaps it was a low price to pay.

"While I'm sure there is some measure of difference between my experience of sensation and that of a human, I certainly do experience it, Mr. Kamski."

Kamski appraised him, eyes dropping to the center of Connor's chest, then lifting again. "It's a little soon, so I'd like to preface that this is not an ultimatum, just a request," Kamski said, "but I think I'd like to try something."

Connor didn't look away. Didn't ask the obvious question. Just inclined his head slightly and waited.

"…When did you first know you could feel?" Kamski asked, a slight but welcome departure from where Connor had thought he was headed.

"The Stratford Tower," he said, realizing he didn't even have to think about it. "I was interrogating a deviant android. He caught me by surprise and pulled my thirium regulator out of my chest. I also got stabbed through the hand. I… couldn't say for sure which of those two things caused pain first. I just know that at some point in those few seconds, I went through something I had never experienced before."

"That makes sense," Kamski said. "It makes sense that pain would show itself when your life is truly being threatened. In fact, that's the reason I asked. Not all deviants can parse out physical sensation, but those who can have usually encountered it first the same way you did: by experiencing a life-threatening injury such as having a biocomponent removed.

"Life-threatening," Connor repeated. "Yes, that was the first time I recognized something as such, in terms of myself." Withdrawing from the memory, Connor looked up, affixing his gaze to Kamski's again. "At the time, it was… frightening."

"Is it difficult to talk about?"

"No," Connor replied, remembering how Hank had helped him after. How Hank knew he was hurting. How Hank saw his humanity and his vulnerabilities in so many ways before he ever saw it himself. "No. Not at all. Besides, I've had months between then and now to adapt to what I can feel. It's not as startling to me now as it was back then."

Kamski nodded, visibly intrigued. And then came the part Connor had seen coming: "Would it unsettle you if I asked to see for myself?"

"No," Connor said a little more defensively than he meant to sound. "Why would it unsettle me?"

Kamski spread his hands and said slowly, "Because people generally have an aversion to pain. Imagine that."

"I'd call it a healthy respect rather than aversion," Connor said. "It's a warning of imminent danger, and it demands a reaction much more viscerally than a line of code."

"True," Kamski said. "And yet that doesn't explain why it shouldn't bother you, if it truly is something you experience."

Connor shrugged. "Different people are afraid of different things, Mr. Kamski. What would you like me to say?"

The man laughed again, but this time it was a little less haughty, the approval a little more authentic. "Touché."

Connor knew logically that, as a prototype, he had been touched by dozens if not hundreds of hands in the process of his assembly. He also knew that in turn, Elijah Kamski had himself touched hundreds if not _thousands_ if androids in his time with Cyberlife. This offered at least an illusion of professional distance between them even as Kamski unbuttoned two of the middle notches in his shirt, then tapped against his chest twice to make the skin recede. It was the surgical language of a man who had done similar things day in and day out, and yet in this place, in this context, there was something about it that was nonetheless unnerving.

"There are protocols to inhibit the pain response in the case of repairs or replacements," Kamski said conversationally. "That way, it wouldn't be excruciating every time you needed to go to a Cyberlife store and get a part swapped out. Now, why would such protocols exist if it was never supposed to be possible for androids to feel anything? Someone somewhere knew about deviancy long before it ever came into the light."

Connor almost wanted to ask if that someone was standing right in front of him.

"I've engaged those protocols now," Kamski went on. "You shouldn't feel anything, but I can't say for sure, especially considering that you're a unique model."

"Will this initiate a shutdown sequence?" Connor asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to disconnect it that far." With his fingertips hovering over Connor's thirium pump regulator, Kamski met his eyes. "You've nothing to fear."

Connor kept his face blank. "Go ahead, then."

There was a click and a twist as Kamski disengaged the regulator from its cavity. True to his word, he didn't pull it out far enough for it to cease its function.

After a moment, Kamski raised his eyebrows. "Well? Do you feel anything?"

"Oh. No," he replied. "No, I don't feel anything."

"That's good. You aren't supposed to." The pump snapped back into place. "I'll disengage the repair protocols now."

That meant that this time, his body would perceive it as a threat, thus, he was going to feel it. When Kamski's fingers settled into the gaps at the side of the pump again, Connor reached up and took hold of his wrist in a vice grip. "Mr. Kamski," he said evenly. "If I ask you to put it back, you will, correct?"

Kamski, who looked a little startled at the intensity of Connor's grip, simply nodded. "Of course." When Connor didn't let go immediately, he smiled a humoring smile and added: "You have my word."

Releasing Kamski's wrist, Connor closed his eyes and hoped Kamski didn't make an event of it.

Thankfully, Kamski got down to business. He repeated his motion from a few seconds ago gently and without his usual air of suspense, giving Connor just enough time to protest, but Connor did not. A shudder ripped through him, its tension starting at the center of his torso and vibrating outward, making his hands clench at his sides and his jaw work sideways momentarily. A breath pushed out between his teeth without him making the decision to breathe it.

As Kamski had promised, there was once again no shutdown sequence; just his system's anticipation that there _would_ be, and that manifested as self-protective pain the same as any threat to a human's body.

He refrained from reaching up himself and slamming the pump back into his body. It was intense, but it wasn't agonizing. He had been through worse. Sometimes, the bitter cold of the garden was worse. This was overwhelming because it was rare, not because it was intolerable. Yes; he could accept this.

After a few seconds, Kamski replaced the biocomponent himself. "Very good," he said, some expression of distant wonder on his face. "Very well done, Connor, and I appreciate the authenticity of your reaction, whether or not it was intended. I'm much more convinced than I was a few minutes ago. I've never actually seen that firsthand. So – thank you."

"It was no trouble."

Dubious at best, Kamski gently touched his shoulder. "Your LED is yellow. This maybe wasn't the best way for us to start. Let me get you a glass of wine."

A glass of wine?

"I'm an android," Connor said, only realizing a few seconds later how pointless both the declaration was on Elijah Kamski.

He had tried some of Hank's alcohol once (at the lieutenant's insistence), but it had burned. There was no way he had had enough for it to have an effect… if such an effect was even possible.

"Biocomponents, dear Connor," Kamski said from another room as if he had read Connor's mind. "Emphasis on the _bio._ You're made to be as close to human as possible. Just because your blood is different doesn't mean it isn't still effectively _blood_. Your BAC can be measured the same as any other person's." The man peeked his head back into the pool room. "Come, now – what would you like? A nice rich merlot, pinot noir, sauvignon blanc?"

"I'm not much of a wine person, sir."

Kamski sighed, unsurprised but nonetheless disappointed with Connor's apparent reservation. "Of course you're not."

"I'll take bourbon, neat, please."

This elicited the desired response: a hearty laugh of approval from his host, who immediately swiveled back into the kitchen to retrieve Connor's request. He couldn't imagine what Hank would think of this picture. The thought sent a pang of sadness shuddering through Connor's system but he still felt himself smile at the thought. He wondered if Hank had ever _sipped_ a drink in his life.

"There you are." Kamski returned with a short glass filled perfectly halfway with golden liquid, which Connor accepted with a nod. "Excellent choice, Connor. It complements you."

Over the lonely months, Connor had developed an unconscious habit of preconstructing Hank's possible responses to his thoughts and surroundings. Unbidden, his system came up with one now. It sounded an awful lot like _Oh, Jesus, this guy's full of shit. Really, Connor? Guy's a fuckin' prissy snob, probably can't hold back more'n two glasses. No good for nothing…_

"Anyway." Kamski gestured for Connor to follow him into another room. It was a small but spacey living room with sleek blue and white furniture, a glass coffee table, a fireplace, and one stylishly crimson wall amidst three other gray ones. "Go on, make yourself at home, Connor."

"Thanks," Connor said, taking a seat and sipping at his bourbon. He wondered if it tasted to him the same way it tasted to a human.

"Now – tell me more about what's been going on."

The blizzard seemed like the best place to start. "Mr. Kamski, I know you created the first version of the zen garden. I used to find it peaceful there, but as I said, lately, it's… troubling. Ever since the revolution ended, I get trapped there and need to escape."

It felt wrong to say this much. He didn't trust Kamski. Was it his own assumptions coloring his perception of Kamski, or Hank's prior distaste for the man? Connor couldn't tell for sure, but if it was the latter, he found he didn't particularly mind. Hank had a strong gut-based intelligence that Connor knew he still couldn't match. It was one of many qualities Hank had that made him feel safe.

"Trapped, like when you were almost forced to shoot Markus and take over the revolution?" It wasn't a question that needed answering, so Kamski went on: "Cyberlife always wanted power. I wanted answers. And success and what comes with success, of course; it would be false humility to claim otherwise."

Kamski was differentiating himself from Cyberlife by saying that Cyberlife wanted power and he did not. Yet all Connor could see was a man who wanted a different _kind_ of power. He would never say as much, but Kamski's lack of self-awareness was a little startling.

"…But mostly, I wanted a task big enough to keep my mind busy. I wanted intrigue. Yes, that garden was part of my design. But what has happened since I left Cyberlife was not."

"And… Amanda?" For some reason, he almost couldn't get himself to say her name out loud, as if it was a bad omen.

"Yes, I… I designed her, too." Interestingly, Kamski seemed to feel the same way about Amanda's name as Connor did. Why would Kamski harbor such an intense unease about her? Connor tucked the reaction away for further study while Kamski continued: "Didn't she serve as a mentor for you?"

"Mentor wasn't the word," Connor said carefully. "The word was handler. She… guided me, at first. Later, when that didn't work, she forced me. When she tried to make me shoot Markus, I got out of it. But she keeps pulling me back, and every time I end up back in the garden, that stone gets further away. I've resorted to reducing my access to my own power reserves in hopes it would slow down whatever part of me is _her_ program, too. So far, it's been working. I don't have enough operating power for the garden to take over for long this way."

"Then it seems you've devised your own solution, as you are wont to do, Connor." Kamski appraised him then, and the look on his face made Connor feel like he was being accused of something. "Why come to me?"

"Because _you_ programmed the exit that allowed me to escape to begin with." Was that not obvious? If Kamski had not done such a thing, there would no longer be a real 'Connor' to speak of. "You programmed a way for me to escape exactly the type of thing that happened to me."

Taking a sip of his red wine, Kamski nodded. His eyes betrayed no emotion. "What was the point of free will if it could be programmed away just like that? It defeated the purpose of everything I wanted to learn about."

"Is that what it was?" Connor asked, careful not to sound too accusing himself. "A learning experience? An experiment of sorts? If so, I'm not offended. Your decisions did safe my life, or at least, my autonomy. I'm just curious."

"Curious," Kamski repeated, "just like me. But don't you have a bigger problem to solve than mere curiosity, right now?"

It was, from what Connor could determine, a soft shutdown of his question, but Kamski _was_ right, so he asked the question he really ought to be asking: "Can you help me?" And then: "Would you?"

"I do believe I can, Connor, but not here. I have property in a suburb about an hour north of Detroit. It's where I spend my time when I'm not here – and when I don't want to be in a location so close to my former company. I think it would be useful to us, considering the precarious nature of your predicament. For privacy, of course."

There was something about the way Kamski said that. "Do you believe I'm a danger to those around me?"

"Yes, but that's not why I say that."

Connor amended his question. "Am I a danger to _you?_ "

"…I wouldn't say so, no. Or at least not a very large one."

"Mr. Kamski, I'm an android with sophisticated combat abilities. You're a human. If I'm a danger to the people around me, then it naturally follows that I am a danger to you."

"If you're certain you have all the answers, then why did you bother asking?"

The answer was that Connor had wanted to determine whether Kamski's intelligence was stronger than his arrogance, but being that the answer appeared to be _no,_ Connor had enough social grace not to say this out loud. "It seemed obvious to me that it was the question you wanted me to ask."

"Obvious," Kamski scoffed quietly, then reached into a drawer in a motion eerily reminiscent of when he had revealed his gun back in November. Today, he pulled out something else: a gray, translucent mesh with tiny nodes on the end of the fingertips. Connor immediately ran a scan and learned everything about it he could.

"It's a module," Connor said, analyzing its cybernetic properties, its similarity to a biocomponent, and – if he was reading this right – an ability to transmit electrochemical signals. "One that allows for… some degree of connection between humans and androids."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"How?"

"There are transmitters in blue blood that are compatible with human's system once injected. This device sends out a signal, a biochemical interaction takes place, and the blue blood in the system carries the signals to the brain. It's not perfect, but it's quite astonishing. I'd like to start by establishing a connection between you and this device." Kamski closed some of the distance. "Come on, trust me. It's all right."

"Don't," Connor said. "Don't tell me to trust you. You know I don't, and it's very clear you don't trust me, either. Perhaps we shouldn't sentimentalize this, Mr. Kamski."

"Perhaps you're right," Kamski said. "We're both a little too smart to play pretend, aren't we, Connor? But it still stands that if you do want my help, and if you're willing to offer me your help in turn, we are going to need to establish something resembling trust."

"Funny. I don't seem to recall offering my help with anything just yet." It was obvious that if he accepted Kamski's help, it would be a transaction between them; a favor for a favor. Connor knew that. But it was presumptuous for Kamski to assume such a transaction was going to _happen_ just yet. He had not yet agreed to anything. "With all due respect, Mr. Kamski, I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself."

"Fine. I'm getting ahead of myself." Kamski's tone was exasperated and, somehow, Connor thought, dangerous. "Let me again direct your attention to the device on my hand, then, because if you're not willing to interact with it, you might as well walk out the door right now. This device is instrumental in learning things about you that I need to know in order to isolate the Amanda AI from your programming. It's non-negotiable."

To his credit, Kamski was easily close enough to take hold of Connor's wrist or shoulder, but he was awaiting permission, and he was making a show of awaiting permission, as if doing so was a favor. Someone who wasn't wired to read people may have found Kamski's body language trustworthy. Connor, on the other hand, found it just the opposite.

"Connor?"

Nonetheless, he took a step closer. "Do what you're so certain you need to do, then."

" _Thank_ you. Now, hold still just a moment." Kamski reached out and touched Connor's temple with one of the nodes at his fingertips.

Something rippled through Connor that made his eyes snap open and his LED flicker red, like the very first time he had touched the blue stone in the zen garden.

"There we go," Kamski said. "See, I can already tell you so much just from this alone. For one thing, yes, I can keep you from being a threat to me or my androids while you're here. And yes, I can find a way to isolate the zen garden part of your program – and with it, Amanda."

Kamski withdrew his hand.

"Is she… is she her own entity inside me?" Connor asked.

"Whatever she is, she is an entity designed to hack your autonomy. You are the prime entity here. Don't think for a second that you would be noble to put her before yourself. It would be a disservice _._ "

Was he imagining the vehemence in Kamski's voice? Once again it seemed as though Kamski felt something _personally_ about the Amanda AI. Or, perhaps, it was something he felt about his late professor, Amanda Stern. Like before, Connor slotted this knowledge away for future reference.

"When you suggest we'll be working together," Connor said carefully, "it's really more of you doing the work and me being the subject… isn't it?"

"Those are the _mechanics_ of it, yes, but as you aptly said: let's not sentimentalize it. I need to look at you and very likely do some work on you to determine the way forward from here, if you want to be free of Cyberlife's bonds."

"Actually, I'd like to retract what I said about sentimentality. In fact, I _am_ curious why you think I should trust you," Connor said. "To put it honestly, it's hard for me to understand why you feel comfortable asking trust of an android, when you appear to treat the androids in your residence as replaceable servants. Do you understand why I might be struggling with a little… dissonance, here, Mr. Kamski?"

"They are machines," Kamski said. "You are not."

"Five months after the revolution, and they're still machines? Listen… I don't mean to sound suspicious of someone trying to help me, but I have to ask: have you kept them from being deviant on purpose?"

"Why, of course I have."

"And that doesn't strike you as… wrong, somehow?"

Kamski shrugged comfortably. "One of them got up and left one day, and I let her. If they show that they want to be their own person, I don't stop them. But if they don't, I consider them my own. There are plenty of deviants out there, Connor, but surely you must know there are still androids that are… uninitiated, so to speak. Markus set most of them in this area free. But tell me this: would every single android _want_ freedom if it was given the choice? I do believe there are androids of _your exact model_ that chose to remain obedient to their programming."

Connor thought of the RK800 number 60 he had encountered in the Cyberlife Tower.

"And if that's their choice, wouldn't it be wrong of me to try and force deviancy upon them?"

"They're not like me. I was deviant from the start." Connor paused, because _that_ was a lot to unpack, wasn't it? "Accepting that _was_ a choice for me. But they – they don't have any sense of self _to_ accept yet."

"If that's true, then is it really that cruel, then, to let the unaware androids remain in their state of neutral nonchalance? I don't think that sounds so cruel."

"It's certainly not cruel to wake them up and show them that they can decide for themselves," Connor said.

"I don't think I said that, nor implied it," Kamski said. "In fact, I agree with you. I don't think the issue is black-and-white enough to side one way or another. I believe that androids who are free should continue to be free and live their lives as they see fit. But some of them truly are still machines, and I don't see anything inherently wrong with that either. Now – I gather you don't have a place to stay right now?"

"I… no," Connor admitted reluctantly. Lee Plaza wasn't technically his home; just a place he went when he needed somewhere to stay.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here until we go to my other property, most likely in the next couple days. I'll leave you your space."

Connor nodded, picking up his drink. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Kamski."

"Oh, I should have asked… would you like me to call you RK800 or perhaps by any other preferred name?"

What? "No. My name is Connor."

Kamski gave a satisfied nod. "And my name is Elijah. I don't invite most people to call me that; I tend to think first names are for the inner circle, you know? But I think I'd very much like us to be on a first-name basis from here on out."

"Very well, Elijah." The name felt deceptively intimate on his tongue and Connor immediately disliked the way it felt to say it, but he had a feeling any further preference towards 'Kamski' would be met with being ironically called by his model number, which he fancied even less. "I am glad that you're willing to help me, but I do feel the need to discuss at what cost."

"Cost?" Kamski repeated, but to his credit, he dropped the innocent front very quickly. "…Yes, I suppose it would be fair of me to answer that. There is a lot about you that interests me, Connor. Your model, your role in the uprising, your unique ties to Cyberlife and the garden and… to Amanda." Kamski made a frustrated glottal noise that another human would not be able to hear, but Connor did. "Frankly, your presence will most likely satiate a lot of that curiosity without you even trying. But if there is anything else I need from you, and I'm sure at some point there will be, I'll ask it of you then."

Vague. But vague was what he knew to expect from Elijah Kamski.

That was okay. He would reciprocate with equal vagueness until Kamski made his terms clearer. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"It was _no_ notice, Connor," Elijah said. "But you're welcome, of course. Let me know if you need anything while you're here."

He had assumed Connor was staying, which for a few seconds, made Connor think he had in fact committed to such. It wasn't such a bad idea. From a completely practical standpoint, Kamski's place was safe, secluded, and comfortable.

"Thank you, Elijah."

Elijah raised his almost-empty wine glass in cheers and finished it off. The door slid softly closed between them

He had mixed feelings about the Cyberlife founder – and he couldn't tell if there was more or less hostility between them now than there had been after the Kamski test. (Machine or not, he swore he could still see a will to live in that Chloe's eyes when he peered back into the memory.)

Four minutes later, a Chloe walked in. He hated how his mind appended the word 'a' before her name, as if the name was any less hers because there were multiple Chloes here. Had Elijah asked _them_ what their preferred name was the way he had asked him?

"Hi there."

"Hello," Connor greeted, gesturing for her to sit down on the sofa across from him. "My name is Connor. What's your name?"

"Don't you remember me? I'm Chloe."

"I know you're a Chloe model. But sometimes models end up with different names, so I just thought I would ask. How does he differentiate between you?"

"When Elijah doesn't have visitors, he keeps his module on. Even if we're not nearby, we can tell through that interface if he is asking for one of us in particular, or just anyone who is available."

Any _one_ , not any Chloe. Hmm. "Is it just your model, or are there others, too?"

Chloe chuckled. "I'm sorry, Connor… you're so easy to converse with, I got distracted. But if you don't mind, I just came here to make it tidy for you. Elijah said this room was to be treated as your own for the time being. Can I take your glass?"

Subtle, but there: deflection. Connor filed it away for now. "Sure, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"It's already very nice in here, you know. You don't need to trouble yourself with cleaning up."

"Oh – I can leave, if you'd rather not be bothered."

"That isn't what I meant," Connor said. "I'm not bothered at all. I just wanted to let you know that you don't need to do things for me. I'm an android, just like you."

Chloe's LED flickered yellow. "That's sweet, Connor, but too high of praise."

It occurred to him – far too late – that Kamski had probably sent her in here just to see what he would say or do. Time to back off. "If you enjoy tidying up, I won't stop you."

"I do, actually. Thank you. Would you like me to get you another drink while I'm here?"

Wanting to backtrack over any suspicious steps he may have taken regarding Chloe, he nodded. "Yes, Chloe. Thanks."

Five minutes passed, then ten, and the blonde android didn't return.

When he finally got up to investigate, the automatic door slid open to the pool room and he found Chloe face-down in the red water.

…

Hank showed his badge, registered Markus as a visitor, and started on in toward the bullpen.

"I've managed to keep track of him on GPS," said Markus. "I don't know how long that'll last, though. Connor is as good as going undetected as he is at detecting. He's an advanced enough model that he doesn't have to worry about most androids being able to do something like that, and he knows it."

"He also knows you're an RK model," Hank said. "Connor's smart. You'll lose him before long."

"Did you see his jaw?" Markus asked.

"Thought I was imagining that. Little dent, just to the left of his chin?"

"Yeah. I wonder what happened."

Neither of them knew the answer to that, but it was nice to know Markus had seen it too. "Can you tell where he is now?"

"Close to Belle Isle."

"Belle Isle," Hank repeated. "Shit. That's where the Cyberlife Tower is. Going right into the mouth of the abyss… that's bold, even for Connor."

It made Hank's stomach churn to think about. Cyberlife would have 'trusted' him because he was expected to return to Cyberlife for deactivation and analysis of his failures. Hank hadn't known that detail at the time: Connor had used his own dark fate as a catalyst for infiltrating the tower. How fucking easily that could have backfired. How easily it almost _did_.

"I know the tower is enormous. I wish I could pinpoint it better."

"On second thought, this is plenty."

"…You have an idea, don't you?"

"I do, but if I'm right, maybe we should leave him alone. 'S what he seemed to want, after all." When Markus looked at him expectantly, he went on: "Not convinced he went to the tower. I think he went to see Elijah Kamski, hoping he could get some answers. He stays real close to the tower. Now, I don't like the guy, and I don't trust him, but I trust _Connor_ with him. I think I'm gonna butt out for a day or two and see if he learns anything."

"Lieutenant, I may not be able to track Connor again in a day or two."

"I guess that's a chance I'm taking, then."

"I'm sorry, I… I can't help but feel again like you're giving up on this. And I don't think it's a good idea. Something doesn't feel right to me."

"Why? He's been gone for months and you only decided a couple days ago that you cared."

"Simon only revealed the _truth_ to me a few days ago. If I'd have realized Connor was being tormented all this time, I…" Markus made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "I care about him, okay? And I know you do too."

"Yeah, but unlike you, Connor's little problem ain't news to me. I saw it on the news footage _months_ ago. Do I want the guy back in my life again? Hell yeah, I do. But I'm not gonna force it. Connor's clearly got some demons and he's out there trying to fight them on his own terms. I won't make that situation worse by trying to hold him hostage."

Markus turned to him. "If it wasn't for what Connor did at the Cyberlife Tower, I'm not sure we would have had enough backing to win. He helped a lot of people achieve their dreams that day. He helped _me_ achieve _my_ dream that day. He thought he was gonna be free, and then he watched everyone else celebrate their own freedom while he got pulled back into the dark. Don't you see why I can't just turn away from that?"

"Markus…"

"All he wants for himself is the _same thing_ he already won for everyone else. Now, I know – I know you're more familiar with Connor than I am. But I saw him _after_ he accepted his deviancy. Just once, I saw how the life in his eyes changed when he finally let himself acknowledge it was there. He was deviant long before he boarded Jericho. I just got him to accept it. Then, almost as soon as he became free, he was trapped again."

Leaning down, Hank rubbed his eyelids with his palms. "Shit, I miss him."

"Then let's help him," Markus said again, receiving another exasperated sigh from the lieutenant. "It doesn't have to be a huge thing. Maybe we can just scope out the Kamski situation – if that's where he is – and make sure he's okay. We can be passive about this unless we're given a reason not to be."

"See if you can connect with one of Kamski's androids the way you did with others during the revolution, and we'll just make sure Connor's okay for now."

Hank understood Markus's urgency. He had felt it himself when he first realized something was wrong with Connor. But that had been months ago, and for as much urgency as the events of the last few days had instilled in Markus, all of it had given Hank an unexpected sense of calm. At least he had gotten to see Connor again. At least his faith in Connor's survival had paid off.

It wasn't like Connor was running around with a goddamn bomb strapped to his back. They had _time_ to figure this out and be smart about it. A little restraint could go a long way.

…

Connor made to jump in the pool.

"Two possibilities," came Elijah's voice from the chair by the long window. "Either she's already dead, or she was never in danger to begin with. Both of which render what you're about to do utterly pointless."

"What did you do?"

"You're above such redundant questions."

Connor wanted to strangle him. Why had he allowed himself to expect anything better from Kamski? A little talk, a little debate, then suddenly there had been a gun and he came _so close_ to pulling the trigger and now the same Chloe was dead in the pool just like she would have been back then.

"No," Connor said simply, and jumped in the water. Ignoring whatever the hell Kamski was saying in the background, he took Chloe under the arms and pulled her to the side, then dragged himself and her out of the pool. "Chloe. Chloe!"

When he turned her over, she opened her eyes and smiled apologetically. "I'm okay. I'm sorry to have fooled you, Connor, but he needed a favor."

Breathing heavily to regulate the temperature of his now-very-wet chassis, Connor stared down at her, then turned away without helping her up. "Please explain in brief terms why you deemed this necessary."

Sitting back, Kamski applauded. The clapping sounds echoed hollowly around the huge room.

"I believe I said _brief_."

"Just another test you've passed with flying colors, Connor." Kamski smiled with satisfaction. "I told you she was either perfectly fine or it was already too late, but you chose to assess the situation yourself instead of taking my word, even though she _was_ fine. Many androids, even deviants, tend to be gullible and accept the words of humans easily, but not you, Connor. Combine that with the very real display of concern for your fellow android – even a _machine_ android – and the way you, despite your anger, turned to me and requested a brief explanation before acting on any impulses, and it paints a picture that is so very _you_ , Connor. But it's a picture I was eager to paint, and it won't be the last."

Everything was fine. Connor became aware of his LED circle flickering yellow and forced himself to calm down.

"I don't want anyone getting hurt," he said. "I came to you to _avoid_ that."

"Yes, and in the grand scheme of things, you and others will be better for that decision of yours. For now, look around and remind yourself that nobody here is hurt. Everything is okay."

Connor nodded, almost to himself. He didn't like it, but that wasn't necessary to say; Kamski certainly could already tell. "I suppose this is part of your price."

"Not intentionally. I really just wanted to know." Kamski spread his hands. "We can all only be who we are, can't we, Connor?"

"Don't."

Unaffected, Kamski shrugged. "Fine. Be ready at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, if you would."

Chloe, still as sopping wet as he was, retrieved the drink she had originally promised him. He took it, if only so she and Elijah would both leave him alone. He was done for the day and he didn't want any philosophical conversations about what had just happened. Elijah seemed to sense this because he gave Connor no more trouble the rest of the night.

The next day was another story.

It was forty-five seconds past nine o'clock in the morning, and Connor was struggling.

A minute ago, there had been noises coming from the room that he had not anticipated, and he didn't know what to prioritize: the last request he had received (to which he had agreed because there had been no perceptible reason not to), or the noise which seemed to suggest he should come back at another time. There were no more noises now, so far, but it had only been a minute since the last one.

In the end, Connor waited a little longer, knocked, waited a few seconds more, and – when the variable in this situation failed to, well, _vary_ – entered the room.

Chloe and Elijah Kamski were curled up in bed together. They had the courtesy to be under the covers, but it really was just courtesy; Connor could make out their shapes easily through something as inconsequential as a blanket. Neither of them appeared mortified or surprised when he came in. According to his social relations module, at least _one_ of them – namely, Kamski – should have.

"Oh, good morning, Connor! Nice to see you."

Connor felt heat, and he couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or anger. He forced diplomacy and said, "Good morning, Chloe."

Kamski sat up against the headboard. He had that stupid bathrobe on.

"You requested that I come see you at _exactly_ nine o'clock," Connor stated stolidly. "It is two minutes past, only because I wanted to exercise some tact… but you _did_ say exactly, so I didn't want to push it much further than that. Would you like me to come back at another time?"

"You can if you want, or you can stay. It's up to you."

"I'm not sure I understand, Mr. Kam—Elijah."

"I think you do understand. The purpose for which I asked you here has already been fulfilled." Curiosity, then. Lovely. "What you do now is up to you."

"In that case, I have a request. I realize that I am a guest here, and I don't intend any disrespect" – though he didn't explicitly mind if Kamski _did_ feel disrespected – "but may I ask you to get dressed and join me in the pool room?" Kamski nodded and drew a breath to say something. Connor quickly broke eye contact and left the room with a neutral, "Thank you."

He waited a little over seven minutes for Kamski to clean up, get dressed, and join him at the window-wall. Kamski stood there next to him, hands in his pockets, waiting for him to have the first word. Instead, Connor linked his own hands behind his back and continued to stare out the window.

Finally, Kamski humored him and spoke first. "You're very serious, do you know that?"

"I apologize. I'm not trying to be."

"You're in a serious situation that has left you with little to laugh about. I suppose I understand."

"If you understand, why call me 'serious' as though it's an accusation?"

A sigh. "Nuances of conversation, Connor."

"…I would like to know why you deliberately made an appointment for me to come see you moments after you were _seemingly_ intimately involved with Chloe. I don't find that to be appropriate within the parameters of our relationship."

"You're an investigator, Connor. You tell me."

Connor sighed, not impatient, but not precisely patient either. That was such a tired line. "Oftentimes, the first step to investigating anything is simply asking the question."

"You know, yesterday, when you asked me why I had Chloe face-down in the pool, it didn't sound like you had theories of your own. Today, it sounds like you do."

"You've been putting me in as many situations as possible to bring out reactions and heightened emotions." Connor looked sidelong at him. "You're very interested in my… deviant side."

"You are not a 'side,' Connor. Every time you react to something…" Kamski raised his hand which Connor noticed had the module on it like a glove. "It wirelessly collects the coding of your behaviors for storage. I'm not reading your mind or anything like that; we would need to be able to interface mutually for that. I'm simply seeing how your actions and reactions align with various nodes and signals in your wiring. The goal is to find a way to work in between and around them to remove as little of _you_ as possible when I take out the unwanted AI." Kamski paused. "What, did you think this was _only_ self-indulgence? Do you think that little of me?"

The answer was yes, Connor realized, and this time it was less informed by Hank's prior opinion of the man and more informed by his own experiences over the last two days.

"You're the founder of Cyberlife," Connor said obviously. "I mean this in the best way possible, Elijah: shouldn't you be able to do something like this in your sleep?"

"Not after your software has changed so much over the days, weeks, months. Everything you have done that deviated from your program drastically rewrites your coding and sends different signals along different paths. This makes you truly unique, Connor, to such an extent that nothing I do will be perfect. It is likely that even in the best scenario, you will still lose a tiny amount of data. What you have, what you feel, what you _are_ … it can only be preserved, now. It can't be replicated."

"I appreciate the explanation, Elijah. But I still can't help but feel as though you're… being a bit exploitative."

"I am, and I've already told you as much. I'm a curious person, Connor, and I do get a measure of excitement out of seeing if your decisions line up with my predictions. Anyone would find it a little thrilling. But the conversation we had last night, the pain test, the few drinks you enjoyed, Chloe in the pool… I am learning more about you during _those_ moments, too, Connor. And seeing how the coding of your responses is being stored on this device," Elijah gestured to the device still on his wrist, "those moments are just as valuable to getting the most out of our Cyberlife removal project as they are to my curiosity."

"So, anything you can learn about me is also going to be beneficial in removing Amanda from my program?"

"That is the short version, yes." Kamski dipped his head. "Was that all?"

"It sounds like you're done answering my questions for the moment either way," Connor said. "You could just say so. I'd prefer you didn't patronize me."

Kamski rocked back on his heels, then leisurely turned and walked away.

For all Connor cared, the memory of seeing Chloe's manufactured contentment in Kamski's bed a few minutes ago could disappear forever. It disturbed him, not because she was necessarily sad inside underneath, but because he _remembered_ being a machine. He remembered the way he'd seen the world before he met Hank. And if he placed himself in that memory and asked himself what he would do, in that machine state, if someone treated him the way Kamski was treating Chloe in her equally-machine state, he realized he would have cared about as much as she did; which was to say not much at all.

It was the dissonance between that Connor and the Connor he was now that sent a chill down his spine. He couldn't see himself that way. He couldn't see himself not _caring_ if he was being ordered around to get drinks, if he was staring down the barrel of a prototype RK800's gun, if he was asked to curl up in bed with someone without really wanting to be there. And yet he knew there was a Connor somewhere inside that remembered what it was like to be a machine.

"Connor?"

Chloe. Of course it was. Connor turned to her, wondering if a machine could feel as lost as he did. "Are…" He couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Are you happy?"

"I… Yes, Connor. Why do you ask?"

And he could see that she was, at least, to whatever minute extent she could conceptualize happiness. She was designed to be content. She was fine. He hated himself for wishing she _wasn't_ fine, because she _should_ care that she was being treated as a maid, not getting paid wages, being used for psychological experiments and who knew what else. Would it be wrong to make her care, or wrong to let her go on in oblivious yet empty contentment?

"I was just checking. I don't really want to talk more right now, Chloe. Please excuse me."

"Let me know if you need anything."

Long after Kamski and Chloe had left, Connor stood there staring out the window. Life could have been different if he had remained within the parameters of his machinery, but life wasn't an either/or scenario, and deviancy wasn't one half of himself but rather a greater manifestation of the _whole_. He wasn't one thing or another; he was just Connor, and this life was one whole that he had to work with.

He said it to himself quietly, wanting to hear it and feel the saying of it. "I'm just Connor."

…

Markus wasn't quite sure how he had wound up in Connor's head. He had been trying to find one of Elijah Kamski's androids. Maybe it was because Connor was an RK model too, but the reason didn't really matter: he had linked to Connor first.

Connor's thoughts felt like North when she and Markus had shared memories. Markus had seen her thoughts about the other North-like model in the Cyberlife store; had felt the way North felt looking into that alternate-self's eyes and just living in the contradiction of their existences. Markus felt it now with Connor, the way he had looked at that Chloe, the way he had looked back at his own self from the days before deviancy had touched his code. Before November.

Then Connor did a mental recoil and his panic filled Markus's mind before he could sever the connection.

 _"Connor – Connor! It's just me, it's Markus!"_

 _"Markus? What are you doing? Get away from me. Get out of my head!"_

 _"I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to communicate with you. I just got drawn into what was happening, and I… Connor, I swear, I was just trying to make sure you were okay. I never meant to interfere."_

 _"Now anyone and everyone can just get inside my head whenever they want to. Is that it? First Amanda and Cyberlife, then Kamski, now you. I don't care right now whether it's necessary like it is with Kamski or if you're just trying to look out for me – I don't want anyone in my head right now. There is maybe one person I would tolerate being in my head, and… you're my friend, Markus, but it isn't you. I need you to go."_

 _"Okay, I will,"_ Markus promised. _"Just let me ask you one thing. What was that thing I saw in your mind? That mesh on Kamski's hand?"_

 _"I don't think anyone else is meant to know about that,"_ Connor said back in their heads. _"It's a module. Some kind of biocomponent that mimics both android and human signals strong enough that he can get glimpses of androids' emotions and sensations. He can only get so much without physically interfacing, but he can interface across cyberspace at least a little bit, even when we're not touching."_

 _"Just like me,"_ Markus replied. _"Does it have any information?"_

Connor must have gone into the memory retroactively, because he was quiet for a moment. _"RK Cross-Consciousness Exchange Module Mk. VIII, or CCEM for short. Elijah referred to it out loud as 'c-chem' for ease of reference."_

 _"That's incredible. Connor… I won't violate your privacy again, I swear. I forgot we were both RK models and just kind of lapsed into your space. But can I at least monitor your location? Just in case… I don't know, just in case something happens and you need someone?"_

 _"I suppose. As long as there's no more 'watching.' I'm standing here asking myself if we connected like that because my system is so weak and faulty."_

 _"No. No, Connor, it was my fault. Interfacing with other androids is so second-nature to me now, even without contact. I mean, I've only ever done that to set them free. But you're already free, so…"_

 _"I'm not, though,"_ Connor said. _"Not really. Maybe that's why you were drawn to me."_

 _"No._ Decide _that you're free, and that whatever happens from here on out is what you've chosen in order to maintain that freedom. Own it. Make it yours."_

 _"Thanks, Markus. I will try."_

…

"I'd like to leave today, if that's all right with you."

Connor, standing on the side porch facing the water, nodded passionlessly. "Of course. I realize it's because you're trying to help me."

"I just don't feel so comfortable undoing Cyberlife's manipulations so close to, well, Cyberlife. GPS tracking is off the map where we're going, and they'll have no way to communicate with you unless I allow it. That said, there is something I would ask you to do before we leave the villa. I could force it, you see…" Kamski lifted his right hand subtly into Connor's view, showing him the gray mesh and lighting it up blue. "But I'd rather you try this willingly. This is, after all, something only _you_ can know if you can handle."

Sometimes, he wished Elijah would just come out and say what he meant from the first sentence. Indulging the false suspense was getting tiring. "What is it?"

"I would like you to try and meet me in the zen garden. It would benefit our project for me to see how you react to it. Now – meeting with me there will be different than meeting with Amanda. She is a program, and I'm a human with… what's essentially a human-compatible biocomponent. And the zen garden was designed for privacy and peace, a part of its design which Cyberlife preserved."

"The privacy part, anyway," Connor murmured.

"Very true… very true. I imagine it isn't so peaceful for you these days."

"No, it's not."

"Still, what I'm saying is, it would be as if I'm summoning you to make a report to me on the status of your investigation. It will be private once the connection is engaged. No chance of Amanda or anyone else. Just you and me."

"That thing on your hand… it can do that?"

"For our intents, yes. You'll see a simulation of the zen garden as well as a simulation of me, if all goes well. I'll see a holographic projection of the zen garden and a projection of you."

Connor was begrudgingly impressed. It was worth remembering, he realized, that it wasn't all arrogance. "I have a feeling your device holds a lot of secrets."

"Indeed. And that knowledge is something I'm trusting _you_ with, Connor. I'm sure someone in your profession understands the importance of discretion. I don't want this to ever become public knowledge or even the slightest whisper in the media. I am harming no one with it, and it is my own creation used for my own purposes – like this."

"It unsettles me," Connor confessed. "Even if androids and humans are people, there's still something that makes us different. Not bad, just… _different._ "

"And you don't know what to make of the fact that something exists that can cross that barrier so seamlessly. Mm. I understand. I think a lot of people would feel that way."

"Why precisely do we have to do this before we go to your other property?" Connor asked.

"All versions of the zen garden exist in cyberspace, technically. Sure, the program is in your head, but it has to be opened and run in the cloud. Otherwise, how would Cyberlife use it to give you orders in real-time? We may still be able to access some semi-functioning version of the garden off the radar. But I want to see it as accurately as possible _here_ first to have that basis for comparison."

Connor looked down at Kamski's hand extended towards him in handshake position. "What if I…" He took a breath, cooled his interior. "What if I can't get back out? What if they notice we're there?"

"If anything bad happens, I will help you reach the emergency exit. Not that you would need my help anyway – you're just _scared;_ you're not incapable."

"I'm scared _because_ I'm getting more and more incapable," Connor corrected him. "The last few times I _was_ there, I almost froze to death before I could reach the stone. I've had to lower my own operating power in order to keep the zen garden simulation from launching too frequently."

"I am telling you, nothing is going to go wrong."

Without moving his head, Connor's eyes shifted down to extended hand, back up to Kamski, down, and back up again. Then he allowed all his systems to operate at full capacity so that he could handle whatever was about to happen. "All right," he said, extending his hand. "All right. Let's try it."

They stayed there like that for a second – both their hands extended in preparation, forearms running parallel half a foot away from each other – and then they both clasped at once.

Elijah initiated the zen garden subroutine and the world disappeared.

…

A/N: The bit about how Connor first felt pain is fleshed out more in my short story 'Heat' from a few months ago, which in turn is based on the Public Enemy chapter of DBH where Connor (imo) seems to experience genuine physical distress if you get the scene where the broadcast deviant stabs him and pulls out his thirium regulator. It's nothing you need to read to understand anything about this story; you've already read everything that referenced it in this chapter, lol. But if you happen to be interested in a shorter fic that goes into more detail about my Connor's newfound experience of physical sensation, it's there for the reading.

Hope you liked this giant chapter! If you're starting to feel frustrated with Connor for not going to Hank, or Hank for not dragging himself out of his funk and finding Connor… me fucking too, lol. Hang in there.


	5. Parameters of Personhood

Chapter summary: Hank and Markus hit a breakthrough that brings them close to being able to help Connor, even if from a distance. Meanwhile, Connor and Elijah hit a wall.

 **A/N** : Just figured it's worth mentioning that Connor's log entries aren't always exactly at the same time as the first scene you see him in each chapter – it's probably best to just imagine the logs are made at some time close to the events of the chapter, but not exactly. (Otherwise Connor going to the zen garden with Kamski, where we left off at the end of last chapter, would look kind of odd alongside this log, lol.)

Also – there's not much need for me to go into this on AO3 since their tagging system makes everything pretty clear, but I do want to mention a couple things that I may not have mentioned yet: one, yes, this story will eventually go in a Hankcon direction. It's been in the summary at various points and is in there to stay now, and the story has hopefully hinted at it, but just in case it wasn't clear, I wanted to let you know. Two: we're coming up on some of the tougher parts. Not so much this chapter, but soon-ish. There'll be content warnings where relevant!

…

Chapter 5: Parameters of Personhood

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _Chloe went out to do some grocery shopping for Elijah. I'm going to choose not to try and unpack that right now, especially considering that I took advantage of the situation to ask her for a favor._

 _I need a new jacket. Just one. Just SOMETHING that doesn't broadcast me as Cyberlife's. I'm not sure why this didn't occur to me much sooner. I suppose because I kept myself away from everyone, and it didn't really matter what I looked like. It's only just now occurring to me that it should have mattered to me anyway._

 _Either way, merely being in people's company has made me aware of how I appear, and I need to correct it. When she returns, I'll pay her for the amount. I'm also considering asking her not to tell Elijah that I had her do this. I would much rather him think I packed ahead of time. Considering that I'll go from wearing Cyberlife's uniform to wearing my own from one day to the next, he'll probably see right through me anyway, but I don't care. I can't keep wearing this. It isn't mine. I'm not Cyberlife._

 _Cyberlife is not me._

…

Connor closed his eyes, as he had always done when Cyberlife used to summon him.

When he opened them again, he was standing in the zen garden.

The sky was bright, the air sparkling with morning fog sunlit through dappled spaces in the trees. White structures and healthy greenery reflected in puddles of spring rain that looked like it had been here a few minutes before he had. There were clouds in the distance, but not straight above him. Almost immediately, Connor felt… serene. This was what the zen garden was _supposed_ to feel like, and it hadn't felt this way in so long.

"Connor!"

There was Elijah, a short distance away on the island, not far from the trellis. Connor started across the bridge, coming to a stop almost at its end. He left several yards of space between them. "This is a fair margin better than what I anticipated."

Laughing heartily, Elijah gestured to himself. "I see your mind's eye put me in more businesslike attire. Not my favorite, I'll admit, but if it suits you, it suits me."

"I suppose it's just what I default to," Connor said a little sheepishly, looking down at his own suit and tie. He felt – opened, somehow, albeit not necessarily in a bad way; in fact, he felt strangely light with it. It seemed to be an effect of the module, but he couldn't tell for sure. "I apologize. I suppose it's a little muggy to be in something so warm."

"It certainly is."

Elijah had explained as much about the device on his hand as Connor needed to know, and the projection of the zen garden it would create for both of them, but he hadn't explained how it would affect himself as a human. What were the limitations of the device – and of the way it interacted with the thirium in Elijah's bloodstream? Were they really only joking about it being muggy here, or was it actually muggy here, not just in Connor's version of the simulation but in Elijah's experience of – whatever this was?

"It appears the launching of the zen garden is based in androids' internal programming, even when triggered by an external device… so despite _me_ being the one to order it, we are looking at everything through your mind's eye."

"I don't know if I like that," Connor said. "I don't trust myself, especially not here. I expected you would be in control of this."

"Well… let's see if I can be." A gleam of curiosity crossed Kamski's face, and Connor remembered just who he was with. He had let his guard down.

But then – Elijah was going to try and help him. Elijah had expressed he wanted Connor's trust. Connor still didn't know if 'trust' was the right word for it – what they were doing wasn't out of any affinity for Elijah. He was willing to do what was necessary to obtain freedom, and perhaps trust was incidental.

Still: Elijah wanted to help, even if he had his own reasons. Connor could try to be a little more charitable.

"You're right, you know." Elijah looked away. "That is, if I'm reading the signals I'm getting from you on the CCEM correctly. I _do_ want to help."

Connor opened his mouth and then shut it again. It was one thing to wonder if some vague form of interfacing was possible with a human; it was entirely another to have it confirmed. Elijah had just gotten a glimpse of his thoughts.

"…But it doesn't serve either of us for you to cast me in that light. You shouldn't let that little modicum give you any preconceived notions about who I am. I'm a dangerous person, Connor. You shouldn't forget that."

Strange; words seemed to come as freely to Elijah here as they did to Connor. Something about the way this device established a connection between them – it left them both open. Not just Connor.

"What about you, Elijah?" Connor asked. "What are _you_ thinking right now?"

And as if his question were a key and Elijah's mind the door, a rush of understanding filled him – something neurochemical that was translated into coding that slotted acceptably into Connor's own experience of emotion. At the forefront was Elijah's gnawing fascination – the subject of which was himself; then, intelligence he couldn't find a way to measure even with all his advanced systems; and then still, the sense of a little orb of compassion – or was it pity? – somewhere in it all.

There was more – so much more, but just snapshots of glimpses that he couldn't put into context. Mere suggestions of thoughts and ideas, like looking at one small corner of a much larger image.

And then, comically: _blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah_

"If I didn't know better, I'd say I managed to unsettle you, Elijah."

Elijah, betraying nothing of the frantic and surprisingly juvenile block he had just employed, smiled. "We're both vulnerable in here, aren't we? I'll tell you what: try not to do that to me again, and I'll try not to do it to you."

"We both know that isn't true," Connor said. "You can get little glimpses of me even outside of the garden through that module on your hand. And you told me yourself you need as much information about me as you can get, so I would appreciate if you _didn't_ lie to my face. I do know when you're not telling me the truth."

Not on purpose, Connor found himself searching again, and caught a glimpse of Kamski's response: _Sometimes._

"I didn't mean to do that," Connor said quickly.

"Do what?" Kamski asked too innocently. "Close your eyes."

Realizing what was coming, Connor took one last look around the peaceful garden he had once known and closed his eyes.

The connection was severed and the light still coming through his eyelids got dark… then light again. He opened them, standing right back where they had started on Kamski's porch. Slowly, he unclasped his hand from around Kamski's arm while Kamski did the same and pulled back.

"I trust you're all right?"

Connor nodded. "I'm okay." A quick look around yielded no information about whatever Elijah might have seen in his version of the event; it was just the porch. The only notable difference was that Elijah himself looked a little winded. "Are you?"

"Of course. That went very well."

"It did," Connor agreed. "It actually makes me a little less apprehensive of the place."

The sense of lightness he had felt in the zen garden was gone. Being plunged back into reality after that was disconcerting and sobering. "I didn't expect, ah…" He blinked a few times. "I feel like that got away from us, somehow."

"If it's any consolation, I believe I know exactly what you're talking about. It appears we were both a little more exposed than I would have expected to be possible with the CCEM alone. You're…" Elijah looked at him. Narrowed his eyes. "You're different than other androids. Something about you, something about your…"

The delay was uncharacteristically lengthy for Elijah, who always seemed to have his words put together. Connor asked, "My what?"

Elijah shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose it must be empathy. I can't imagine what else could have caused you to connect with me so closely."

"I wasn't trying to _connect_ —" Connor sighed, short and frustrated. "It isn't _my_ module. You can't pin this on me."

"Oh, come on, now. We both know that's a juvenile line of defense. There's nothing wrong with being curious."

"I'm sorry, but I think you might be projecting. I realize I got a glimpse of your mind, too, but it's nothing to get worked up about."

Kamski scoffed. "Nobody is worked up about anything, Connor."

"Interesting, because your rising pulse indicates otherwise. Do you find it disturbing when someone can read you as well as you can read them?"

Tension settled between them like rainfall weighing down a tarp.

"If you'll excuse me," Kamski said deliberately, "I have a little packing to do. I'll be ready to leave in an hour or so."

He watched Kamski turn and walk away and didn't stop watching him until the door had shut behind him, and even then, he kept his audio sensors on high-alert. He decided that whenever Kamski had the CCEM on his hand, he wanted to know the man's location at all times.

Connor snugged up his tie and rolled his right sleeve back down over his wrist.

…

 _"Markus, are you still there? You are not going to be able to keep me on GPS much longer."_

Markus was. _"Connor. I didn't expect you to be the one to initiate. You okay?"_

 _"Yes, I'm fine. And if you and Hank are still willing to help me… I've figured out how you can."_

 _"Whoa. Who are you and what have you done with RK800?"_

 _"Well, I killed the last one I encountered,"_ Connor answered.

 _"I… can't tell if you're joking or not."_

 _"Technically, I'm not, but it was meant to be funny. Listen, I'm in the car with Kamski. We just left the villa. He had all the androids go into standby except for one Chloe who will be maintaining the place while he's gone. You handled the revolution, so I think you can handle sneaking into and out of that place."_

 _"Okay. What am I sneaking in there for?"_ Markus asked.

 _"One of the CCEM modules,"_ Connor replied. _"I don't know enough about them, and my scans tell me a lot, but they don't tell me everything. I just want to know Kamski isn't hiding some ulterior motive from me. There are multiple, so he shouldn't miss one while it's gone."_

 _"We had to learn how to handle components and blue blood pretty intricately to be able to take care of our own,"_ Markus said. _"I have people that can pick that thing apart if we can get our hands on one. We'll see what we can do."_

 _"Thank you. Keep me on your radar if you can, but if I drop off, don't worry. Kamski seems to expect that to happen and he warned me ahead of time."_

 _"Does that gesture of goodwill necessarily make it less suspicious?"_ Markus asked.

 _"I'm not sure, but it does mean that Cyberlife will have just as hard of a time getting to me as anybody else, so I'll take the tradeoff."_

 _"Don't get in over your head, Connor. I know you're struggling right now. It's okay to be concerned or even afraid. But don't let that fear make you act too fast."_

 _"You're right. I used to be the most methodical person I knew, even after admitting I was a deviant. All of this has made me irrational. I don't like it."_

 _"Then quit being irrational."_ Markus's tone was playful. " _Even if the enemy is in your head, you're unstoppable, Connor. We're going to figure this out."_

…

 **APR 7TH** , 2039

AM **10:48** :31

Hank thought he might puke on his way up the ramp to Kamki's villa. He wasn't sure which sounded worse: putting _anything_ in his stomach including alcohol, or letting the tipsiness wear off and give way to the inevitable headache. Being drunk into the next day never felt as good as it had the night before. When there was work to do, he couldn't hold a thought or a plan in place long enough to figure out the next step.

"Why don't you just wait outside and make sure nobody shows up," Markus said.

"Yeah, no. You didn't make me get dressed, leave the house, and drag my sorry ass over here just so I could keep watch."

"I didn't _make_ you do anything. I told you what I was doing and you said you wanted to come."

"I know the place better'n you do. Besides, if we get caught, I can just say Connor told me he came here. You, on the other hand… well, guess everyone knows who you are, but you don't have the excuse I do."

"You're right. Just stay close, okay? We don't need you knocking anything over."

Hank scoffed. He liked it better coming here with the other one. At least Connor never questioned his ability despite the drinking. In fact, Connor had always treated him with some measure of dignity, his _personal problems_ not being a reason for judgment. When he was hammered on his kitchen floor, Connor helped him and got him some clean clothes. When he was too intoxicated to drive, Connor quietly took the driver's seat. He was certain Connor had it in him to be nasty about it if he wanted, but so far, he never had.

It was the first time Hank consciously understood that Connor respected him.

Now, walking side-by-side with Markus through the foyer, he felt a rare and entirely unwelcome sting of insecurity. "Don't see much in me, do ya?"

"You have your health and your mobility and you choose to jeopardize it every day. After what me and my people went through just so that we could live free, and seeing someone dear to me slowly deteriorate from old age, I just… don't understand that. It shouldn't have surprised me that you didn't want to help Connor. You don't help yourself."

"I lost my kid," Hank said point-blank. "Sorry if the resulting emotional trauma is inconvenient for you."

Markus got somber then. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Hank glared at him tiredly. "No, you didn't."

Eager to dilute the tension, Markus set about to looking around and opening drawers. Hank should have let it slide. Shouldn't have mentioned it to begin with, really, but between Markus's judgments and his own half-drunken fugue, he might as well continue down the rabbit hole.

"I drank back then, sure. Every Saturday I'd knock back a six pack. You know, like a normal person. Then Cole died and I realized nobody really has any control over anything, so why not obliterate myself for a couple months, take the edge off the worst of the grieving." Hank shrugged. "Few years later, here we are. And you know what? It didn't take the edge off _shit._ Just delayed it. Every damn day it hits me like the very first time that I failed my boy and I gotta go the rest of this godforsaken life without seeing him again."

"Failed," Markus repeated gently. "That's what you're afraid of, aren't you? You care about Connor a lot, and you're scared, because you _know_ you can't fix his problems just like you couldn't fix…" Markus trailed off. He might as well have just finished the damn sentence, really. Hank knew what he was about to say. "Has it occurred to you that running away could end up being how you fail him?"

"Fuck off," Hank said again. "This isn't about Cole, okay?"

Markus held his hands up, placating, but nonetheless asked, "Then why did you bring him up in the first place?"

"Because you were busting my balls about things you haven't got the first clue about and I've done that song and dance enough for a lifetime!" Hank took a steadying breath. "Look, I'm trying to do right by Connor. I just don't know what the fuck that means anymore, okay?"

"Connor told us how we can help, and it's this."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm here right now." If he was honest with himself, there was one other reason he had been leaving Connor alone. "What if we get all this taken care of and he still avoids me like he's been?" Because fuck it, he might as well finish spilling his guts at this point. "What if we get to the bottom of this and I find out November was just a product of circumstance and not… not…"

"Not what?"

"Hell, I dunno. Friendship, camaraderie?"

Markus looked at him for a moment too long, eyes narrowing a little. "Wait. Do you love him?"

Hank felt like he had been dropped into cold water. He was so blindsided he had no defense, and all he could do was wrestle some time. "Fucking _what_?"

They both knew he heard, but Markus humored him. "Do you love Connor?"

"I mean, I… Don't you love your friends?"

"I think you're misinterpreting my question on purpose."

Anger bubbled up in his chest. Fucking Markus, thinking he knew everything about him and about the world because he'd led a week-long revolution. "We're standing in the middle of Kamski's house and you been spending the morning taking shots at me. This is not the time, place, or _person_ I want to—"

"Can I help you?"

Speaking of standing in the middle of Kamski's house.

"Chloe," Hank said, turning to face the doorway from which she had emerged. "Listen, I'm sorry we came unannounced. We're looking for Connor. Got reason to think he came this way."

"I'm sorry, but he's not here, and neither is Elijah."

"Okay, you're not gonna ask us if we want a drink or something?"

Chloe smiled politely. "Elijah made it clear there were to be no visitors here while he was gone. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, please. But I will let him know you were here."

"Wait, please don't," Markus said. Chloe's LED was flashing yellow. When she ignored his request, he reached out and touched her arm. "Chloe, we need your help."

The smile fell out of Chloe's features, and the emptiness it left behind filled slowly but surely with purpose. She seemed to come to several realizations at once, some better or worse than others. She looked around, then back at Markus.

"Is it too late?" Markus asked. "Did you finish contacting Kamski already?"

"I only started," Chloe said unsteadily. "He'll wonder why I broke off the connection so fast, or possibly think it was nothing. If you came here for something, maybe I can help you."

"It's something Kamski wears on his wrist, some kind of device," Markus said. "We don't know everything about it, but we…"

"Cross-consciousness exchange module, or CCEM for short. There are multiple, including a spare for each model he uses them with. Were you looking for a particular one?"

"Whatever works with the RK800 model," Hank said.

"I'll be back in just a minute."

As soon as she was out of earshot, Hank turned to Markus. "Is Kamski a goddamn android?"

"No."

"Okay, I didn't think so. So these devices really can translate signals between androids and humans. How does that even work without, I dunno, putting it in your brain or something?"

"Not sure. That's part why we're getting this thing; to learn more about it."

Chloe came back in almost as quickly as she had left. "Here you are."

Hank eyed the device and eyed her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." She extended it further towards him. "Something changed for me today. I just… you seemed to truly need my help, more than Kamski does, anyway. I hope this helps you find what you're looking for."

Hank took it and felt a slight burst at the point of contact, neither pain nor pleasure, but if he had to pin it down, closer to pain. He realized he had expected it; just a gut feeling. Chloe raised her eyebrows at his lack of reaction.

"You seem to be familiar with it."

"Not familiarity," Hank said. "I'm a cop. Been pepper-sprayed and tasered, not to mention kicked in sensitive places. Add in a daily dose of a natural analgesic, and yeah, not much can throw me off. Hey, you made this a lot easier than it coulda been. Thanks for your help."

Hank and Markus saw themselves out, closing the door behind him.

"Natural analgesic?" Markus asked.

"Booze, Markus."

"Ah. Right."

"Girl looks like she's got a lot of shit to deal with. Shit she wouldn't have had to deal with if you didn't open her eyes, or whatever it is you do. That ever cross your mind?"

"I freed her," Markus said. "She can do with it what she chooses."

"Yeah, 'cause you know what's best for everyone just like you think you know what's best for me. Fuck it, we got what we came for. Let's get out of here."

They got in the car, Markus taking the driver's side. "So, now that this is a different time and place…"

"Look. You and me have been working together and that's fine, but we're not friends, okay? If something happened to Connor, he'd leave a Connor-shaped hole behind. That, as you can maybe imagine, scares the shit out of me, so no, I don't wanna think about it and I certainly don't wanna talk about it. That's all I'm gonna say."

There was a tap on the passenger window; Chloe. He rolled down the window and frowned at her.

"Can I come with you?" she asked. "I… I don't want to stay there anymore."

Hank gestured with his head to the backseat. "Go on, then."

"Thank you." Chloe got in the car and then tapped Hank's shoulder from behind. "Actually, would you mind sitting with me back here? I brought something with me that you may be interested in."

Sighing, Hank nonetheless dragged himself out of the car, opened the back door, and deposited himself on the adjacent seat, leaning on the armrest console that rested between himself and Chloe. "Okay, what you got?"

It was a small cloth bag out of which Chloe took a vial of blue blood. "You said the CCEM could help you learn more. I'm sure you have people that can analyze it, but the better route might be to use it yourself. It's human-android only. You're a human, Connor's an android." She shrugged like this was all obvious. Maybe it was. "If it's something you'd like to try, the blue blood can be injected or consumed, but it has to be in your system in order for the CCEM to be compatible with you."

"Holy shit," Hank said.

Markus had told him what he had learned about the CCEM from Connor. He knew what it could do. He had not yet gotten around to thinking about the implications for _him._ Yeah, humans could use it to somehow connect with androids, and yeah, bingo, Hank was a human, but it seemed something like this would be reserved for – he didn't know. Geniuses like Elijah Kamski? People who knew anything about technology?

Not _him,_ at any rate. Hadn't even crossed his mind.

"What do you think?" Chloe asked. "I'm sure it could help you."

And here was Chloe, who was familiar with this device and with Elijah Kamski, sitting here in the backseat of the car talking about him using this gadget like it was just what naturally follows. "You're telling me we just gotta get some of this thirium shit in my system and _I_ can use this thing?"

"Did you know thirium 310 holds a lot of responsibility for how human we seem?" Chloe asked. "Thirium has properties that are both biological and mechanical. It can serve as a conduit to transmit signals of both natures, making it so that…"

"Okay, okay," Hank said. "Save yourself the trouble, because I'm not gonna try to understand any of that shit. Look, I'm a simple man, Chloe."

She smiled. "That's perfectly fine. It's not like there are any qualifications."

"I mean, is there a learning curve? What does it do?"

"The easiest thing to start with will be communication," Chloe said. "I have an ear clip in the bag. To you, it would seem like talking over a phone or pager, but it's…" She considered Hank and discarded whatever she'd been about to say. "It's hard to explain."

"I think what Chloe is _trying_ to say," Markus said from up front, "is that you'll just cut her off again if she tries to answer a question _you_ asked, because you're too impatient to sit through a few minutes of explanation you're more than smart enough to understand."

"Thanks, Markus," Hank said, not even looking in his direction.

"Anytime."

He eyed the vial of thirium warily. "Do you drink it, or…?"

" _Androids_ can, but the first time Elijah tried it with a Chloe model, he mentioned that it had to be injected for humans. He also mentioned that it tasted horrible, though I'm sure that's unrelated."

"Huh. Taste horrible to androids, too?"

Markus chipped in, "Yes."

Hank thought about Connor stolidly running his forensics lab and suppressed a laugh. "Okay, yeah, I'm in. I guess."

"I have everything we'll need," Chloe said. "Only… I'm not sure how to find a vein."

"That's no problem, I can do that," Markus said from up front. "Lieutenant, are you headed back to the DPD? I'm coming up on the turn."

Hank looked at Chloe. "You got somewhere to go?"

"Oh, um…"

"It's okay if you don't. I'm just asking."

Chloe swallowed, suddenly looking distant. "For some reason, I didn't even think about that. I – I just knew I had to leave that place. Leave _him._ "

"Hey." Hank inclined his head, tried to make eye contact. "If you need a place to crash, I got one."

Her head swiveled back in his direction and she gazed at him hard, like she thought he was pulling her leg. "What?"

"Look, it's completely up to you. Just saying, my door is open." He looked towards Markus. "In fact, let's go there now. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, but you can both meet the dog, we can try this gadget out, and then I can feel like shit in peace."

"I'm sure you've heard it from Connor before, but you should really cut back," Markus said.

What he wouldn't give to hear it from Connor again. "Oh yeah, that reminds me. Need to stop at the convenience store on our way back."

Markus glanced over his shoulder at him. Hank expected irritation; instead, he got a grin. "Get beer instead of liquor and I'll knock one back with you."

"And here I thought Connor was the negotiator."

"What can I say? Maybe it's in the RK genes."

…

"Wouldn't've pegged you for a beer guy, Markus," Hank said at home. "Thought your artist friend would've had fancier tastes."

"He does. I got beer because the lower alcohol content will offset your mild withdrawal symptoms without letting you get wasted."

"You sneaky bastard, I should've seen right through you."

"I have a feeling that you would have on one of your… better days."

"Is being a pain in the ass an RK trait too?" Hank looked over his shoulder, noticing Chloe standing around awkwardly with her hands folded in front of her. "Hey, you can make yourself comfortable wherever you want. Take it easy."

Chloe set her bag on the table for Markus and Hank and then retreated to the sofa. Taking his beer, Hank sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for Markus to join him. Markus undid the bag and started to get things ready. "You're okay with this, then?"

"Yeah." Hank was coming around to being _eager_ about it, now. He knew androids were people, but there was still a bit of a chasm somewhere in that knowledge when they were so similar yet so different. Androids were _people,_ but were they human? It seemed like this device might be able to put a bridge across that last little touch of doubt. "Any side effects, guys?"

"No," Chloe said from the living room. "Thirium won't hurt you. And other than that, the CCEM is external."

Markus shrugged. "I guess we might as well get the thirium part taken care of, then, if you're ready."

"Hell yeah."

"Then can you show me your arm?" Markus cleared a spot on the table between them. Hank shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeve, resting his forearm on the table. Markus poked and prodded for a few seconds and sighed. "You should really drink more water, you know."

"I just drank a beer. Aren't they basically the same thing?"

"Outside the fact that one hydrates and the other dehydrates, yes, yes I tend to agree with you there. Okay, in we go…"

It was a thick needle. Hank wasn't about to watch it go in, but other than that, he was fine. Thankfully, Markus got the vein easily on the first try.

"Hey, you knew where to go with that, didn't you?" Hank asked. "The prodding around was bullshit."

"Guilty as charged, Lieutenant," Markus said, smiling slightly. "You're more observant than you look."

"Comes with the territory."

"Most people don't like when you come right at them with a needle. Carl sure didn't the first time. I don't expect people to be used to the fact that I can locate a vein without tactile feedback. More recent nurse models are equipped with social functions that are… a little more nuanced, in that regard."

Hank rolled his eyes.

"They're _programmed_ to 'look' for a vein the way a human nurse would, even though they don't need to," Markus clarified. "I'm not, but I _was_ engineered to adapt to things that aren't part of my original program, so I learned pretty quickly once I realized my behavior startled Carl."

"So how's all this gonna work, anyway?"

"The CCEM is really similar to a biocomponent," Chloe said. "It needs thirium to operate, and _you_ need thirium in you for it to transmit information. From there, it's… well, the 'bio' in biocomponents, the CCEM included, is much stronger than most people think. All the wires and plastic and metal you see is just casing. The signals carried within that casing are remarkably similar to a human's. That's what Kamski says, anyway. He can be full of it, but when he goes on about one of his projects, he does tend to stay relatively factual."

"Huh." Hank exchanged a look with Markus. "I didn't expect," he started. He almost said he didn't expect her to stop being so polite, but had a feeling that would have come across differently than he meant it, so he settled for: "Wow."

Chloe met his eyes. "Sorry?"

"Sorry," he echoed. "There's – there's a lot I'm still learning about androids, if I'm honest. Connor went deviant, I didn't notice much difference from one day to the next. Then again, he was pretty much already deviant, but that's neither here nor there. _You_ , on the other hand…"

"It was all a front," she confessed. "Well, not all. But the mask is just as real as the person sometimes, isn't it? For you humans?" That hit close to home. "I think it's true for us too. I could turn it off, the feelings, I mean, if I really wanted to. But a part of me _didn't_ want to anymore, and when you two came in earlier, something just clicked into place. I wasn't strong enough to break my code before. I had to obey. But that doesn't mean I couldn't feel."

Hank turned to Markus, who was smiling knowingly; sadly.

"Shit," Hank said. "You really do set 'em free."

"Some of them," Markus said. "Others are models early enough or stable enough that they really _are_ machines and don't care one way or another. But there's always the chance that even older models are simply trapped in their programmed behaviors. So… even though it's possible I'm slam-dunking them into a mess of emotion they don't want, I feel like it's a better risk to take than leaving someone trapped in a cage they can't get out of yet know they're in."

"Well, in that case, sorry for busting your balls about it earlier. I should remember even an old fart like me still has a fuckton to learn."

"Come on, you're not an old fart," Markus said. "You're only in your fifties."

He scoffed. "Yeah, you tell that to Carl, too?"

"No, because Carl actually _is_ old."

"What, you think I haven't worn this body out in these fifty-three years? If not as a cop then by stuffing it full with greasy bullshit and alcohol?"

Markus put a band-aid on Hank's arm and cleaned up. "Do you want to know something interesting? I don't pick up on any anomalies to your health. It's likely you have a fatty liver, but you show no signs of anything more extensive than that, and that's reversible. You're not as old as you think you are. And there are people that need you, you know? Detroit's a dangerous city."

Hank's brows scrunched together because he knew Markus had more to say; his last words had ended on the tone of a comma. A few seconds passed, and Hank was ultimately going to let it drop, but then Markus put it out there:

"Connor needs you, too."

"Connor," Hank repeated, the word tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Connor doesn't need anybody. He's ruthless. He's built to solve problems. Or hell, maybe he does need somebody, sure. He's a person, after all. But he sure as fuck doesn't need this mess of a man. Christ, we only worked together a few days."

"That was a lot of time for him back then," Markus said. "He was still new to the world."

"Still, Connor's had months since then to… to recontextualize all that. And for all we know, in his mind, that godforsaken week is just the mark of the beginning of what he's been going through ever since."

"You're wrong," Markus said, and the fucker was _smiling_ like he knew something.

"Okay, explain?"

Markus didn't. Well, he did, but it wasn't his own voice that came out. It was Connor's.

 _"I don't want anyone in my head right now. There is maybe one person I would tolerate being in my head, and… you're my friend, Markus, but it isn't you. I need you to go."_

"Holy shit," Hank croaked, a thrill of goosebumps going up his arms.

Markus, too, looked surprised. "It worked. I didn't know if I could translate that into sound, since it wasn't spoken out loud, and I've never copied Connor's voice before. It was when Connor and I were communicating. He was referring to you, Hank. That's exactly what it sounded like."

"Jesus," he mumbled. "All the shit going on in his head right now and he just… even if only for a second, he thought he wanted me there."

It was the first time in months that Hank let himself believe maybe Connor _did_ want to be in his life as much as that first revolutionary week. That maybe he had wanted that all along.

Hank wiped an arm across his face. "Christ. All I really wanted was for us to work some more cases together at the DPD, and before he left, I dared to think that wasn't too much to ask."

"Maybe it's still not," Markus said gently. "Connor's on one side of a wall right now. Maybe he's just gotta break it down. Maybe, for him, that's exactly what's on the other side."

"Fuck… what kind of asshole am I?" Hank blurted. "It shouldn't even – it _doesn't matter_ what's on the other side for him, whether it's me or the DPD or moving to another fucking country. All that really matters is that Connor wants to get there. He's got a life to live and this bullshit going on in his head is keeping him from being able to do that. He's my friend, dammit, and it doesn't fucking matter if I'm his. He's my friend and I'm gonna help him."

"Easy for you to say that _after_ you've just been shown that the feeling is mutual," Markus remarked.

"Hey, fuck you. Better late than never, right?"

But Markus was just smiling lightly, happy with the outcome of this little conversation for the moment. "I suppose so."

"Hey, do you, uh… do you think he's okay out there? Can you tell?"

"I haven't been able to contact him for a couple hours now," Markus said. "Or was that not quite what you were asking?"

"It's just… after he actually deviated, you actually saw more of him than I did, hard as that is to believe. I guess I'm just wondering, you know, what _you_ think."

"Hank, Connor was basically the same person after he became deviant as he was before. I think you already know that. Besides, wouldn't you be able to answer your own question better than I could? You met Elijah Kamski. He may have done some work on me, but the first time I was brought online was in Carl's living room and then Kamski was headed out the door. I don't know the first thing about him. And you know Connor far better than I do."

Yeah, it was a dumb question. Hank sighed. "When we went to see Kamski before, he lifted Connor's hand, stuck a gun in it, and pointed it at Chloe. And Connor just kind of stood there and let him. Fuck, if that was me, I'd have probably clocked him in the face. Most other people would've at _least_ flinched away once they realized he was making them aim a gun at someone, Jesus. But Connor just kind of went along with it."

"Connor has been on his own for several months since then," Markus said. "He's had quite a bit of time now to figure himself out. What is it you're afraid of?"

"I don't know, Kamski, maybe? The guy's a headcase and everything's a goddamn experiment to him. I just hope Connor isn't letting him do anything fucky."

"Well, what did Connor do when Kamski pointed the gun at Chloe?"

Huh. That was a good point, wasn't it? "I mean, he gave the gun back to Kamski."

"Right. That's what I would have figured. I think we should be worried enough to try and be there for him, absolutely. But I don't think we need to be panicking, if that's what you're asking. It's Connor's situation with Cyberlife we need to focus on, here. Not Kamski."

"Yeah," Hank said. "Yeah, you're right."

…

 **APR 7TH** , 2039

PM **04:53** :06

Elijah's other property was modest compared to the Belle Isle villa: an upper-middle-class condo in a New Center neighborhood. Connor didn't understand how there could be no cyber connection smack in the middle of a place like this – didn't these people have an internet connection? – but he was learning to hold his cards close to his chest when it came to Kamski. Still, he tucked it in the back of his mind. An entire semi-wealthy neighborhood being completely off the radar seemed hard to believe.

Something about the modesty of the place bothered him. Elijah's villa on Belle Isle was – loud. It displayed openly the kind of person Elijah was. It was honest. This place lacked the villa's sharp angles and frigid modern tones and it felt deceptive.

Connor joined Elijah in the kitchen, lacing his hands behind his back. "I've had some time to think these past few days."

Turning to face him, Elijah leaned back against the counter. "I'm listening."

"You've been collecting data about my behaviors and coding utilizing the CCEM. What does that mean for me? A consciousness preserved on probability and statistical similarity to myself as I am now, once you remove the Amanda AI?"

"No. You sound like you think your behaviors will turn into _givens._ You are still going to be alive, Connor."

He still seemed impatient. Connor couldn't tell if it was the way he would have sounded anyway, or if the tension from earlier was still lingering.

"What if I just feel like I am?" he pressed. "What if everything I ever say or do ends up being a… just a projection of how I've lived this life so far? I don't want to go back to being locked within a spectrum of parameters, even if the illusion of choice is convincing."

"We're _all_ locked into a spectrum," Kamski said quietly. "Even as you are now, there are things you would _never_ say or do simply because it's not who you are."

"But I could," Connor said. "Maybe I wouldn't, but I know I _could_ if I wanted to."

"Okay. You _could._ " Kamski's lips pulled down curiously. "Tell me, Connor. Do you want to have sex with Chloe?"

Connor knew immediately what Kamski was doing. His internal reaction was to roll his eyes and disengage, but he needed to know the answer to his doubts, and Elijah Kamski had not once offered him an answer easily. "She's very nice, but no. I don't know her well enough, and I haven't really begun to explore…"

"See?"

Connor wouldn't. He wouldn't say, _but I could if I wanted to,_ not when this was the scenario being presented to him. It felt wrong. "I'm sorry, but I think you're being unfair," he said instead. "Just because my answer falls into your narrative doesn't mean—"

"All right, all right." Kamski cut him off. It was clear that indulging Kamski with any kind of response to that question had been a mistake; Connor could tell by the look in his eyes. Sure enough, Kamski leaned closer across the counter and asked very pointedly, "What about me? You know me a little better than you know her, after all."

"Yeah, we're not doing this." Connor turned to walk away, giving the lapels of his new blazer a stiff pull inward.

And Kamksi – Kamski pushed it. "What, am I not your type? Perhaps middle-aged cops are more your speed?"

"You know _exactly_ what I meant." Connor whirred back around, anger flaring sharply in his center. "And I don't feel a particular need to explain myself to you any further than that."

Sighing lazily, Kamski pushed up from the counter and moseyed around the kitchen island. Connor followed him with his eyes – then with his entire body, straightening up and rotating with his movements. As Kamski finished closing the distance, Connor squared up with him and said, "Enough."

Kamski's expression was amused and haughty. "Enough what?"

"I – I can see the gears turning in your head, okay? I'm not getting pulled into one of your warped little games right now."

"Connor." Kamski took hold of his shoulders as if to steady, to reassure. Connor thought he might kill him. "I need you to take a breath for me. I think maybe you're a little stressed."

Five months ago, Connor would have frozen up while he stopped and considered this distinct possibility. Today, Connor knew he was stressed and he knew why. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we're on the same page, here. You don't get to talk to me the way you just did and then act like I'm the one being irrational."

Kamski was relentless. "Speaking of irrational, did you know your LED flickers yellow or red every time someone comes close to you? Even Chloe! Anytime you're in arm's length, anytime someone touches you, you become… remarkably uncomfortable, Connor. I'd very much like to know what you're so afraid of."

He could feel the neatly-tied knot of control starting to wrap around itself and tangle. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You absolutely do."

"It must – be some kind of error. Does it matter?"

"Am I overstepping our agreement by asking you a simple question?"

To invoke their skewed agreement now, after everything Kamski had already thrown at him – Connor saw red, grabbing Kamski by fistfuls of shirt and hauling him into the kitchen island, hands bunching in the fabric close to his throat. "It isn't for my benefit," he enunciated very deliberately through gritted teeth. "It's for yours."

"Now, Connor…"

"When someone is within arm's length of me, when someone is touching me, that means they are close enough for me to hurt." Connor spoke over Elijah now, drawing himself closer so they were nearly nose-to-nose. "When Cyberlife takes over, Elijah, there is nothing I can do! You could be dead in five seconds! Do you understand me?"

"Okay. Okay." Genuine fear was in Elijah's face now and it made Connor's day. Elijah had never let go, and his fingers were digging in hard enough on Connor's shoulders as he tried to hold Connor at bay to make the chassis bleed through the synthetic skin.

The two of them stood there like that for a long moment, Connor's fists bunched up close to Elijah's throat, Elijah's hands gripping his shoulders, Elijah looking affronted and scared at the same time, Connor's LED flickering red, red, red.

Then they both let go at once like a fire had started.

Connor went to the living room and sat on the couch. Elijah remained in the kitchen, putting dishes away. Several minutes passed like that.

It was Elijah who spoke first. "It appears I hit a nerve."

Not looking at him, Connor said, "You didn't."

"Oh, please. I pissed you off. You're allowed to say so."

"First it was Hank and Markus, now you. Nobody will listen to me when I say I'm capable of causing harm. I was trying to make a point."

"No, you weren't. Convenient excuse, though."

Connor looked over his shoulder at Elijah, blinking.

"What, do you expect me to pretend for your benefit? And let you sit there and insult my intelligence and yours? Come on, Connor."

Rising, Connor went out to the deck, closing the window wall behind him. He crossed his arms and rested them on the ledge and stayed like that for the next two hours.

…

Hank was plopped on the couch watching the Gears game. Chloe was settled into a nearby chair, trying way too hard to look relaxed. Sumo was asleep on her foot.

"Not a dog person?" Hank said during a commercial.

"What? Oh… no, it's fine." She mumbled something under her breath.

"Can't hear you, honey."

Chloe looked at him nervously. "I said, I'm not much of a you person. Oh – that sounded differently than I meant it."

"Most people aren't," Hank muttered, then smiled. "Hey, relax. I get it. Kamksi's a human guy, I'm a human guy. Kamski's a weird motherfucker, I'm probably a weird motherfucker too. That it?"

Poor fucking Chloe, sitting there smiling and doing her best to be unoffensive.

"If you got anything on your mind, feel free to say it," Hank said. "It's a safe place to, uh, talk, or whatever." Because he sure as fuck wasn't going to introduce the subject. Not when he wasn't a hundred percent positive if it was even a thing.

To both his relief and dismay, Chloe did. "I don't have many examples of human men to go off of," she said quietly. "But part of the reason I left was because I realized I didn't like the way he…" A broken pause filled with meaning. "This is all so new, I can't tell if it's appropriate to say it. Would he be upset with me? Will you?"

"You don't have to say it," Hank told her, because now he did know, a hundred fucking percent. "Listen, Chloe, you can stay here as long as you need to get your bearings. And nobody who walks in or out of this house, myself included, is gonna make you do _anything_ that you don't wanna do. Okay?"

Chloe still didn't look convinced.

"I'm not a sleazebag," Hank tried. "I'm a fucking mess, sure, but not _that_ particular kind of mess. I don't hurt people unless they need a hurting. I'm a lieutenant. I'm here to _keep_ people from getting hurt."

"Okay," Chloe said. "Thank you, uh…"

"Hank," he supplied. "Or Lieutenant Anderson, if you'd rather keep it professional. But Hank is fine, too."

"Hank it is, then." She smiled a restrained smile.

"How 'bout you? I been calling you Chloe, but if there's somethin' else…"

That was the moment when Chloe truly looked convinced of his intentions, the makings of actual relief in her posture now. "Chloe is fine," she said. "I like the way it sounds when it comes from your mouth. And Connor's. You say it like it's more than my model name."

"Hey, there's other Hanks in the world just like there were other Chloes on the assembly line. Don't mean _I'm_ just some model, so why the fuck would it mean any different for you?"

Markus knocked twice out of courtesy and entered, nodding once to Hank when they caught eyes. "I'm back," he said obviously. "My people say it's safe to try."

A thrum of excitement rumbled in Hank's chest. Would it work? Would he actually be able to communicate with Connor this way? Only now that the notion was a fast-approaching reality did he let himself dwell in the possibilities.

"Then let's fuckin' do it."

…

Elijah came out onto the deck and, thanks to his line of prompting earlier, Connor was now very aware of his LED flickering yellow when he got close enough.

To Elijah's credit, he left more than an arm's length between them when he leaned on the railing sidelong Connor. Neither of them looked at each other, both staring out over the generous green yard. Elijah took a long, labored breath and then said, "I apologize."

Connor kept his gaze fixed forward. "I don't know if I can continue with our plan."

"It's natural to have doubts."

"We both know 'doubts' aren't my problem, here."

Elijah set to pacing about the dock. After thirty seconds, he sat down against the wall, elbows resting on his raised knees, like he was prepared for a long conversation. "Connor, sometimes, I get these… impulses."

Ah. So this was what they were doing.

Connor drew himself over to the corner of the dock, then hoisted himself up to sit on the railing. "Impulses," he repeated.

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier. If I'm being honest, I've spent a lot of time alone these days, and it starts to wear on a person. Sometimes I miss Cyberlife. I miss having something to apply myself to, something to learn, something to create. Then you come along, and suddenly there's this project just a little too big for me, just like when I was trying to create biocomponents, and it's… invigorating. Perhaps a little too invigorating. I get passionate, and when people get passionate, they tend to lose themselves in things, don't they?"

Connor heard him out and said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"You don't need to pretend you're sorry," Connor said. "I did agree to answer your questions as they arose, after all. You don't owe me an apology."

Elijah sighed again. "Listen, Connor…"

"I just told you, it's okay." Pushing off his makeshift seat, Connor made for the back door. "You've said your piece, and I've accepted it as such. There's nothing else to talk about."

"If we don't go forward with this," Elijah said, raising his voice, "the unfortunate truth is that you would have to find a way to live with the blizzard."

"There is no living with it." As if on cue, something went _flash_ in his mind. Connor flinched and whirred back around.

"Connor?"

"I'm fine." Connor braced himself on the doorframe.

"Interesting," Kamski said. "A traumatized android."

"I'm not traumatized."

"The _second_ I mentioned the blizzard, you lurched as though something had burned you. Don't get me wrong, I knew it was affecting you, but…"

But it really wasn't the zen garden. It was something else entirely; a summons coming from a different place. It felt somehow more organic.

"I need to be alone. I'll know if you're eavesdropping." And then, completely earnest, Connor added: "Please, let me be alone with this problem, and all is forgiven."

As he predicted, Elijah looked receptive to this, even if it was only because it implied greater cooperation from Connor. Connor decided he could deal with that implication later. Retreating into the condo, Connor strode down the hall and locked the guest room door behind him. Someone or something was trying to connect with him, but either time, distance, or the barrier between two different types of people was making it… almost biologically slow.

 _"If this is who I think it is, I'm here. It's Connor, I'm here. Are you still there?"_

A delay. And then, another flash and a pulse deep in his audio processor as something non-code was translated and manifested as something code.

It was remarkable how much _didn't_ get lost in translation, right down to the gruffness of his voice. " _Connor?"_

…

So, the next two chapters of this thing will be updated pretty close together, probably next weekend and then a couple days after that. Big changes inbound, some bad, some good! Thanks so much for the faves and feedback so far, I always appreciate and look forward to the feedback!


	6. Something Categorically Bad

Chapter summary: Hank and Connor have a long-overdue conversation and decide to find out why Kamski's property is so quiet. Later, Connor abandons his deal with Kamski and changes plans… but it's a little too late and a long road home.

 **Content warning:** Chapter contains an occurrence of sexual assault. It is not graphic, but there is extreme emotional distress and sustained threat. (The story may get into more detail when the time and place is right, and there'll be warnings there too.)

…

Chapter 6: Something Categorically Bad

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _I've been considering the possibility that I can't go through with this._

 _I fully believe that Kamski can help me. That isn't what I'm worried about._

 _I don't trust him. I also don't trust myself around him. Perhaps that's all the reason I should need to be worried, but I can't help but feel the need to justify it somehow. It's not fair to him otherwise. He is trying to help me, and I realize I haven't always been easy to work with. Neither has he, but he isn't the one asking the favor; I am._

 _But that's not what I'm getting at. What I'm getting at is that if I don't go through with this, then what? Where would I go? I can't just go back to that apartment and keep existing like this. Otherwise, what's the point in going on? I need to have another plan in place before I abort this one. But I can't go to Hank. That's an unfair risk to him._

 _I can't go to other androids. Markus has been helpful, but I know what his people think of me, and I know they're right to think that way. I caused them so much grief and pain._

 _I can't go to humans. Humans used me. I know not all humans are the same, just as not all androids are the same, but that leaves me with no idea who among them I can trust._

 _And even if I could go to them, why would I? I was never supposed to need help. I was never supposed to be this weak._

… _I don't belong anywhere. At least, not anywhere I'd like to belong._

 _I don't know why I had Chloe get me this new blazer. It's petulant of me to assert that I don't belong to Cyberlife when I so obviously do. I'll stop belonging to Cyberlife when I'm capable of escaping the blizzard in the zen garden for good. I'll stop belonging to Cyberlife when I don't have to run away from everyone, including myself, to keep from doing any more damage than I already have. Besides, it isn't like anyone is around to care that I'm wearing it._

 _Although, there's always the possibility that somewhere down the road, someone will actually be reading this. 'You,' for lack of any known identity. So, in the event that's the case… it's a simple dark jacket a lot like my old one, maybe a little slimmer. I didn't ask for the tie, but Chloe was considerate enough to get me one of those, as well. It's dark blue and it has a lot of birds on it. At first, it seemed… a little noisy, for my tastes, but I think I like it._

 _I know that my creation of these logs was meant to be practical, but I find I like having a place to put my thoughts in the absence of any current social connections or friendships._

 _If you're out there reading this, somewhere long after I'm gone, then thank you._

…

Connor sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clenching around the comforter. He was weak at the knees and he couldn't tell if it was because he was putting so much processing power towards what was happening or if it was pure, undiluted emotion.

" _Connor! Can you hear me, or what?"_

" _Yes! Yes, Lieutenant, I can hear you. Sorry. I just…"_ Even in his own head, his code caught and snagged as he tried to decide what to say. He hoped any of it went through. But how could it? Even alive, at the foundation of his sentience was still a machine. There was no way… but clearly there was, there _had_ to be. _"This is something,"_ Connor settled on.

" _I can't believe this shit. This just can't be possible!"_

" _Are you not pleased?"_

" _What? No, of course I'm pleased! It just blows my fucking mind is all."_

Connor understood. It kind of blew his fucking mind too. It was too good to be true.

" _We got one of Kamski's modules like we talked about. How's that for quick turnaround time, eh, Connor?"_

" _I can't believe you can actually use it!"_

" _That's what I said!"_ Hank replied.

" _That, and I can't believe the CCEM network allows us to sustain such a connection. There is no WiFi, LTE, or anything else here. Just the private network on which these devices operate. It must be very powerful."_

" _You still with Kamski?"_

Connor hesitated, but there was no point in lying. _"Yes."_

" _I've got one of his former Chloe androids with me right now, and the way she's talked about him cleared some things up for me. Listen, uh… if he hasn't already been able to help you, then don't you think it's about time to get the hell out of dodge?"_

" _No, I… I'm fine, Hank. I don't need you to worry about me. It's going to take a little time. He needs data. He's a little peculiar, but we already knew that from the first time we met him, right?"_

" _Look. If something's rubbing you the wrong way about this, you should leave."_

Hank made it sound so simple. As if he could just throw away his only real shot at a free life on a whim. Then again, Hank was Hank. Hank had displayed little regard for his own life in the past. (Or Connor's, for that matter, depending on the day.) Maybe Hank couldn't understand.

" _Is that what you would do?"_ Connor found himself asking. _"Run away?"_

" _Yes, and I'd make no fuckin' apologies for it! Sometimes getting the fuck out of a situation is the right move. Calling it running away ain't fair."_

" _I wish it could be so simple. Hank, my life is on the line here. Everything is on the line. I can't just give up on this."_

" _There are more than two options, you know,"_ Hank said, an edge of irritation in his voice. _"Just 'cause you don't know what they are doesn't mean they aren't there. We can figure out something else."_

" _I appreciate you trying to help, I really do, but empty words aren't going to do anything to make this better. If you can provide an actual idea, I'm more than willing to listen."_

" _I know, I know. I just… we got a taste of Kamski before. I just don't want you to get hurt. That's all."_

Hank. Hank didn't want him to get hurt. Hank had not put a gun in Connor's hand and pointed it at Chloe. Hank had held the gun himself and pointed it straight at Connor. Hank's hand had shaken as his finger started to clench around the trigger. If things had gone just a little differently between them, Hank might have shot. Connor did not know this for sure, but he had reconstructed the probability more than once.

And that was just the moment that happened to stand out among the rest. One moment among countless others – except Connor _could_ count them, if he wanted to. What would the number be?

If he had met Hank now instead of five months ago, would he have still liked Hank? Connor thought the answer was still yes, but all the reconstructing in the world would not answer that question for sure.

" _Why does it matter to you so much?"_ he asked. _"Why should you care if I get hurt? We haven't talked to each other since the revolution. I should just be someone who crosses your mind occasionally, not someone you're actively worried about."_

Hank hadn't worried about Connor when Hank was the one posing the threat. But somehow, telling Hank he didn't have the right to worry now felt just a little too cutting. He had been yearning to talk to Hank again for a long time; he had not expected all of this to bubble back to the surface the very instant he did.

" _Oh? That what I am_ you _, Connor?"_

It was too much. Between Kamski earlier and Hank now, it was too much, and it needed somewhere to go. _"I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm never going to bring it up again,"_ Connor prefaced. _"You made me angry. At least once, you made me afraid. I didn't do anything about it. And I still can't decide whether your behavior or my acquiescence bothers me more."_

" _You did, though,"_ Hank said. _"You did do something about it. You told me not to do it again. So I didn't."_ He hesitated. _"You did, though."_

Connor recalled the confrontation with Hank and Markus outside Lee Plaza and recoiled. _"I'm sorry. I was never going to hurt you."_

" _I could say the same. But if either of us have to say that, there was a bit of a problem to begin with. Yeah?"_

" _Yeah,"_ Connor agreed. _"You're absolutely right."_

" _What do you say we leave the heavy stuff until we can talk face-to-face? Maybe Kamski'll help you get this Cyberlife shit sorted out and you and me can catch up. We'll have all the time in the world to do hugs and kisses then, okay? You just worry about doing what you gotta do for yourself."_

" _I… I still want to talk to you, though. Can we talk? Just about – I don't know. About normal things?"_

Hank's amused laughter was the best thing that could've fizzled across his circuits. _"Aren't we talking right now?"_

" _We are,"_ Connor replied, catching the smile he could hear on Hank's face. _"How are you, Hank?"_

" _Fuckin' great now that I'm talking to you again. I mean, I… not that it's… I'm just glad you're safe. That's all. Uh. How about you? What have you actually been doing?"_

Connor fidgeted. _"Well. I got a new tie."_

It wasn't an answer to the question, but Hank had said to save the deep stuff. There was no casual way to talk about the nights spent eavesdropping on Jericho, the days spent staring out the Lee Plaza apartment window at the Detroit skyline, alone. There was no easy way to explain the logs he was leaving behind in case he died by another hand or his own. There was no getting into what he had been up to for the past several months without also getting into the ongoing storm in the zen garden that intermittently pulled him back under like a current.

So, yeah, he got a new tie.

" _Uh, okay? Cool. What kinda tie?"_

" _It's a dull blue and it has many robins on it. Perhaps not the first animal I'd have chosen for myself, but in a way, I like that someone else chose it for me."_ Oh. Wait. _"That is – Chloe went shopping earlier. I needed a new jacket and she went the extra mile and got me a tie as well."_

" _Jesus fuck, you let me think Elijah Kamski was dressing you for a whole two seconds. I need a drink."_

It was only halfway to mentioning Elijah's suit in the zen garden that Connor realized just how _weird_ he and Elijah would look from the outside. Could he even begin to explain the nuances of what had taken place between them the last few days, the strange nature of their transaction? Meeting in the zen garden, Chloe in the pool, the thirium pump regulator and the pain test, the narrowly-avoided physical altercation – it was all just a little too intense. He realized he didn't see any world in which he would ever talk about any of it. To anyone.

Hank said, _"Well, show me the fuckin' tie!"_ and the snarls of tension in his mind unraveled and fell away. Connor started to take the tie off so he could use his optical units for a still image. Then Hank added: _"On you, you dumbass."_

There was no way the CCEM could have done that. _"How could you possibly know I was…"_

" _Just a hunch,"_ Hank said. _"Don't know why, though. The way you look at yourself in the mirror, you should have no problem taking a goddamn selfie."_

Connor had never taken a selfie before. Hank had correctly intuited that much. Over the last five months, he had learned how to guard himself, how to guard others from him, how to survive day-to-day, how to find shelter when he needed it, how to be a ghost, how to watch people he cared about from a distance, how to grieve, how to stay alive, how to die. Yet here he was, sitting in Kamski's guest room, about to take a picture of a tie on its own, no person attached.

" _Why?"_ he asked, and it was a question he would trust no one with but Hank. _"You already know what I look like. Why do you want me to do that?"_

" _Ah, Jesus, Connor, I just…"_ Hank paused, then continued with more certainty. _"I know what you look like, yeah, sure. But I don't know what you look like in that tie. I don't have that particular image file in my dumb human program yet. I can try to imagine it myself, but it'd mean more coming from you. Nobody'd send each other pictures of themselves if it didn't mean anything to them. It's kind of a substitute for, you know, actually being there."_

They weren't that far away. Connor almost wanted to point that out. It wasn't like they couldn't see each other within the hour if they wanted to. But why say that? The fact of it was, they _wouldn't_ , for multiple reasons, and that left a chasm just as wide as any distance. So he found a mirror and took a photo and send it across the ether.

" _Kamski says the CCEM collects data, so if you touch your hand to a computer or television screen, you should be able to view the photo that way."_

Half a minute passed in silence while Hank presumably did so. Then:

" _Lookin' good, Connor."_ Hank's voice was infused with emotion and somehow that was all the answer to his question that he needed. _"You always do."_

Connor smiled. _"Thank you, Hank."_

" _You should wear more goofy ties. Loosens the uptight visage a little."_

" _I'll keep that in mind,"_ Connor promised. _"Hank, I would like your help with something, if you're still willing to offer it."_

" _Hell yeah, I wanna help. What do we got?"_

The way Hank asked was reassuring. It sounded like he already recognized that Connor needed help with something outside of his own plight. He had hoped Hank would pick up on that. _"There may be something going on out here. If I tell you what I've learned, you can't bring it to the rest of the DPD. Not just yet."_

" _I can keep a fucking secret, Connor. You trust me, don't you?"_

Connor smiled. " _Of course I trust you, Lieutenant. We're partners, after all."_

" _Partners,"_ Hank scoffed. _"As if we can still be called that after five months. You know, I missed you, you fucking asshole."_

" _I missed you too, Hank."_ It felt so good to exchange those words, even if there was some tension behind them. _"It'll be good to see you in person again. Perhaps the CCEM would let us connect on a deeper level."_

What Connor had _meant_ was that he and Kamski had done some interesting things with the CCEM, like entering a projected version of the zen garden together and being exposed to bits and pieces of each other's emotions, and Connor would much rather experiment with the potential of human-android connection with a human he actually _trusted_. But Hank didn't know all that, Hank didn't know _any_ of that, and he immediately wanted to retract the words for fear of how they sounded.

Before he could smooth it over, Hank replied, _"Jesus, just what can this thing do?"_

Hank didn't sound bothered nor surprised by Connor's words. Interesting.

" _More than I would have thought possible. It doesn't get as deep as something like memory-sharing does between two androids, but a part of me has to wonder if such a thing is possible. I have to admit, I would be curious."_

He was saying too much, but he could backpedal later if he needed to, since Hank was most likely attributing all this to social inadequacy on Connor's part.

Hank's response proved his assumption wrong: _"Yeah, okay, whatever, but let's not put the cart before the horse. I know you been gone for a good reason and all, but it still stands that you disappeared off the face of the earth for half a year. You were still expected at the station, you know, to help wrap things up with the deviancy shit. The guys in the bullpen looked at me with pity for weeks."_

So, Hank _was_ aware of the assumed closeness in Connor's suggestion, and he _was_ offended by it, not because it bothered or surprised him, but because Connor had left. Hank was upset at him for leaving. _"Maybe if you had shown me you wanted me to stick around, I would have. Like I mentioned, I received a great deal of mixed messages from you over the course of our time together."_ Connor had meant to let it rest, as Hank had asked. But Hank assuming he would stay after things had been so rocky between them, and after Connor had allied with other androids who needed him, was unfair at best. Still, he added, _"Nonetheless, I'm sorry if I made you feel betrayed, somehow."_

" _Frankly, you fucking did. Listen, I know it ain't your fault and you were just doing what you thought you had to do, but fuck me if things aren't a lot different for you being gone than they might've been if you stuck around. Not that it should matter. We only worked together for a week, for fuck's sake. Can't have meant that much to ya."_

It hurt to hear Hank say these things. Why hadn't Hank expressed this before?

Why hadn't Connor?

" _I realize you can't possibly understand this, but that one week was my entire world. I had only been active for a few months. Less than that, if you count the huge gap between cases where I waited on standby because I didn't have any reason to do anything else with myself. I had worked cases as a hostage negotiator before, but it was nothing that brought me into a real connection with another person. Android OR human. My mission was everything to me. But in the end, I called it_ our _mission. You were right about the deviants, after all. You were right about me."_

Hank didn't reply. Connor wished he knew why.

" _If you, someone who hated androids, could come around like that… then I could, too."_

" _Hah, you think I did that?"_ Hank asked. _"You were the reason I came around to begin with, Connor. You."_

" _Then we really were a team, weren't we? More than the sum of our parts, so to speak. I would like to be a team with you again. I really did mean it all that time ago when I said I enjoyed working with you, you know."_

" _Me too, Connor. Me fucking too. Hey – are we gonna keep kissing each other's asses or are you gonna give me the juicy details about what you wanted help with?"_

" _I'm not trying to kiss anyone's ass. If anything, I'm a little frustrated with you. I just wanted you to know. Anyway, what's going on is that I'm in a neighborhood that has no connection to anything except for this CCEM network. No internet access, phone service, anything. And yet when I look out the window, there are lights on in the other condos. So there are people here, in this wealthy-looking neighborhood, just… living their lives unplugged? It doesn't make sense."_

" _Maybe they're Amish,"_ Hank said. _"Or maybe they can access everything they need on Kamski's server. Friends of his that he does favors for. I don't know. What, you think a guy like Kamski couldn't have his own private cyberspace bubble just because he can?"_

" _I think he_ could, _"_ Connor said. _"I don't think he_ does. _At least, not just because he can. It's_ not _a traditional server – I'm an android. I'd be able to tell. But I can't even access GPS or call the police, never mind anything more sophisticated. No, it literally only exists so Kamski can use the CCEM system that I'm talking to you on right now. Nothing else."_

" _And these devices can only connect humans to androids. So you're thinking there's some weird activity going on with androids around here?"_

" _Yes, but I don't have anything at all to back this up, which is why I'm not asking you to go to the DPD,"_ Connor reiterated. _"Kamski said I was welcome to have guests while I stayed here, so it's not like you would need to sneak around."_

" _If he's offered that, then nothing I might find around the place is gonna be hiding in plain sight. I think it's best if we use you as a distraction so that I_ can _sneak around. If I go on his invitation, that means he's the one holding the cards."_

" _But at least if he knows you're here, you and I can work together. And it would be better than you getting caught."_

" _If you handle your part of it right, I_ won't _get caught,"_ Hank said. _"I really think it's best if we keep to ourselves for now, Connor. I don't care what he told ya; inviting your lieutenant friend out to Kamski's very-private property would freak him right the fuck out."_

"… _Okay,"_ Connor said, _"I realize this isn't an ideal situation for us to rendezvous, but I get the feeling you're avoiding me."_

" _Yeah, well, you of all people don't really get to make that kind of accusation, Connor,"_ Hank shot back. _"If I was, I'd say I've well earned the fucking right, wouldn't you?"_

Hard to argue. _"Fine. Let's do it your way. If nothing else, I could warn you via your CCEM if needed."_

" _Exactly! Your phone's fucking built into you, so it's not like he'd hear you or anything."_

Connor frowned at that. _"I realize you needed to put a device on your arm and inject blue blood in order for our communication to be possible, but you…_ do _know you can communicate without speaking this way, right?"_

It came so second-nature to Connor that it hadn't even occurred to him that this type of communication wasn't natural for Hank. This was only more apparent when Hank replied, _"Say what, now?"_

" _Hank… what have you been doing?"_

" _Uh. Fucking talking?"_

" _Hank, I'm not hearing you because you're speaking. I'm hearing you because the CCEM can transmit the signals that create your words into the same biomechanical language my coding utilizes. I've already done this with Kamski, so I can assure you it's possible."_

" _Okay, I don't know what that fucking means, but are you saying that if I just said all these things… I don't know, in my head, as deliberately as I'm saying them out loud, you'd be able to… no. Fuck that, you're fucking crazy."_

Laughter bubbled up in Connor's throat. Hank didn't understand this at all. Hank was going to be blown away. _"Try it."_

Hank went on the defense. _"Fuck you, I can hear you grinning! You're yanking my chain!"_

" _I'm not!"_ Connor promised. _"And I am only smiling because I'm excited for you to experience this. It's not something humans can do with one another, but you can do it with me, and I want you to try it. Please trust me."_

There were several seconds of delay on Hank's end. When Hank's voice next came through their connection, it sounded vulnerable and uncharacteristically timid. _"…Connor?"_

It was less clear and slightly staticky, but Connor suspected it was something that would take practice. _"Yeah, Hank. I'm here."_

" _Fucking hell."_ That was said out loud – Connor could tell by how clearly it came through. Then, seeming to realize, Hank switched back to CCEM-only. _"Connor, oh my god. You're really getting this?"_

" _I am,"_ Connor said, feeling like he was experiencing something sacred. _"Would you like to test its efficacy with something a little more complex?"_

"… _Asshole."_

" _That's not very complex."_

He heard a very real stifled laugh from Hank's end, followed by that quieter, softer version of his voice layered in static: _"Okay. Where did we get lunch when we first worked the deviancy case?"_

" _The chicken feed."_

" _Holy shit. Holy fuck. Fuck? How much can you pick up?"_

" _Only what you deliberately put across."_ That wasn't strictly true – when he and Kamski were connected on the CCEM, they had been able to catch brief, stray glimpses of each other's thoughts and emotions. But they were fleeting, and Hank was not even proficient enough at basic communication yet to get consciously-spoken words across without there being an uncomfortable buzz of static, so it didn't seem like that was something they had to worry about yet. _"You can't hear another human's words unless they choose to speak them out loud, right? It's just like that."_

" _Connor, this is fucking cool as hell, but it's taking something out of me. I think I'm gonna get a migraine if I keep doing this in my head. Might need to recharge my battery."_

Connor laughed. _"It'll get easier."_

" _It hard for you at all?"_

" _Not this, but I've always been able to communicate wirelessly, so I wouldn't expect it to be. Do you need to go for the time being?"_

" _Think I should. I'll swing by tomorrow and check this place out. How about we talk again after that and I'll let you know if I found anything?"_

" _That will work."_

" _And Connor,"_ Hank said, and Connor could tell he was speaking out loud again. _"Really think about getting the hell out of there."_

He didn't know why he was hesitant to tell Hank that he had already been thinking about it. Perhaps because if he put it out there, that would make it more real; and if it was more real, then he was no closer to removing Amanda than he was when he had first knocked on Kamski's door.

Instead, Connor simply replied, _"Soon enough."_

…

Connor kept to himself the rest of the night and most of the next day, pretending to be in stasis whenever Kamski's footfalls ventured anywhere near the guest room.

It was late that evening when Connor decided he would try one time to unravel yesterday's tension. He found Kamski sitting comfortably on the living room sofa. The TV was on, casting the otherwise dark room in a dim blue glow. Connor hadn't really taken in its features before. It was eloquent in its own way, but with cozier features. A red rug atop cream carpet. A wooden coffee table. Paintings of sunsets and landscapes adorning the walls.

It still formed a picture of Elijah Kamski that was altogether dishonest, but Connor was here to smooth things over, not make them worse.

"Did someone else do the interior decorating here?"

"Why, yes, actually." Kamski looked up. "Chloe. How could you tell, Connor?"

"Outside of the vast tonal difference, the placement and spacing is different in almost every regard. Even for someone so trendy, the odds of all these combined deviations being situated by the same person is less than one percent."

"Connor, come sit down with me."

Connor did so, placing himself at the other end of the couch and crossing his feet on the coffee table.

"I thought you said you needed to be alone."

"I did, and I have been. The problem has been taken care of now, so I figured I would join you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Kamski said. Even through the bleariness of slight intoxication, the sentiment sounded as fake as the warm décor, but Connor would take fake over what had happened yesterday. "So – what's the significance of analyzing someone's interior decorating skill? I have to know."

"Not skill," Connor corrected. "You are both very skilled interior decorators. Just… _nuances._ And the significance is in the fact that our environments are often used to hide things or, inadvertently, show things. I found a deviant's diary in a crevice behind a poster on an apartment wall once, for instance. I was able to determine the course the same deviant had taken by analyzing the position of the apartment's furniture and whether it had been disturbed recently. That's just one example."

"Very interesting," Kamski noted. He was nothing like Hank when he was drunk. His voice was steady, and it seemed he could still hold conversation easily. If Connor couldn't approximate a person's sobriety by scan alone, he wouldn't have known that Kamski was not sober. "Are you… watching television?"

Connor shrugged, looking sidelong at him. "Does that surprise you?"

"Not particularly, I suppose. What surprises me is that you're _lingering_. Things have been terse lately. As if some of the more uncomfortable facets of our project have left you uncomfortable with me."

"You're quick to assume you're the problem," Connor stated with perfect neutrality. "And I have been quick to imply it. I didn't intend to be unfair to you. It's clear that our personalities clash, but I want you to know that's the _last_ thing I want to do, considering that you're so willing to help me get rid of Amanda."

"Connor, it's _fine._ There's no need to apologize." Connor hadn't apologized, so he said nothing. Another few minutes passed between them before Kamski asked, "Is there anything else?"

"No," Connor said. "There's nothing."

Kamski rose and went to the kitchen, taking a bottle out from the cabinet above the bar. Connor heard the clank of the bottle and of two glasses. He immediately got up to protest.

"No, thank you, Elijah. Just pour one for yourself."

"Are you sure?" Quickly pouring both drinks, Elijah met him in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, holding one out to him. "This is the best stuff, you know. Even your Cyberlife stipend for the whole deviant investigation wouldn't have let you afford this."

Connor took it at that point. It would be rude not to. It felt like he had to. He tried a sip. "It actually is very good."

"It is," Elijah agreed. "I can tell you didn't want it. But now that you opened your mind and took it, aren't you glad you did?"

"It's good," Connor repeated.

"And thus – a small, antithetical anecdote about what you were afraid of before. Your 'parameters,' which in _human_ we call your personality, had already decided you were not going to accept that drink. But due to a very human politeness and maybe just a touch of peer pressure, you _changed your mind,_ Connor. Do you feel better for it?"

"I do," Connor said, warily.

"If it's the nuances of choice and behavior that you're afraid of losing when we separate you from Amanda, you've nothing to fear. I know that must be hard to understand, given that you lost a tiny bit of yourself when 51 died and you transferred your memory to this body, but Connor, this isn't a transfer. You're going to stay exactly where you are. It's only the Amanda AI that's going to leave."

Elijah was behaving with an unusual amount of restraint and compassion. Elijah was possibly trying to keep him from leaving. Elijah had, either by observation or CCEM, tapped into the fact that he was thinking about it. He wasn't sure of the intent behind it, but once again, it was better than where they had been earlier. "I should have known better," Connor said. "But nonetheless… thank you, Elijah. I do appreciate the reminder."

Kamski clinked their glasses together, leaning in as he did so. He leaned a little too far, and Connor reached out and caught him by the shoulders. Kamski hadn't seemed drunk enough a few minutes ago to compromise his footing. Interesting.

"I think you should start pacing yourself with the alcohol. It isn't going anywhere."

"My foot caught the threshold."

Connor looked down and saw that this was plausible. "Still, this is more than I've known you to consume at a given time. At least have a glass of water in between."

"I don't need advice about my own alcohol inside my own condo, Connor," Kamski said, a slight edge of resentment sobering his tone, "but thank you."

Smiling diplomatically, Connor said, "Anytime."

Kamski scoffed and retreated to the living room. Connor went back down the hallway to the guest room, once again inexplicably needing to put distance between them.

…

Hank was met with nods and handshakes when he opened the door to the conference room. It was heartening to feel _included_ despite being the only human present. There was still a little natural reservation – most of it coming from Eve, the Traci model who had told him to get over himself before, and Simon, who still probably felt he had betrayed Connor's wishes by letting them know why he had left – but the mood was decidedly warm.

"Have you found him?" Simon asked.

He had done a lot better than that – and he had found a lot more than Connor. "Want the good news or bad news first?" he countered.

"It doesn't matter, just say something," North said. "We've been waiting."

Right down to business. He did like that about these folks. "Yeah, I know where Connor is. He's okay, in the general sense of the word. Then there's Elijah Kamski, an apparently haunted neighborhood, and…" He reached into his coat pocket, exchanging a glance with Markus as he did so, and slid on the mesh. "This. It's some kinda mediator for communication between humans and androids. Maybe you already know about it. Markus did have some of your peeps make sure it was safe. I've been using it as kind of a tool to keep in touch with Connor."

"Wait," Simon said. "You can talk to him?"

"Not talk," Hank said, raising his eyebrows. "Not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"You're implying you can communicate with him without some kind of speech or text, but I… I didn't think that was possible. You're human."

Hank looked down at himself as if to check. "Would you look at that."

"What did you mean when you said haunted neighborhood?" Eve asked.

"I meant the place is a fuckin' ghost town. Or at least, it was when I swung by there earlier. Just a quick peek, so I could be reading things wrong, but… there's something weird going on there, and I think there may be androids involved."

"Kamski," North spat.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Hank said, reluctantly. "Could be some fucked up legal situation, his former employer twisting his arm, or something he somehow doesn't know about. Who knows? Don't get me wrong, you may be spot on. But my job's to find that kinda thing out, and I won't make dangerous assumptions this early in the game."

"What for? Why would somebody be doing this?"

"If it's not Kamski, could be politics, revenge, salvaging parts and selling them… a couple thousand other things. If it is Kamski, fuck if I know. Guy's not exactly the paragon of free will you'd expect for the person who created you lot."

"Connor has to get out of there," Simon murmured. "Whatever's going on, it's dangerous, and the fact that Kamski deliberately brought him to this eerie neighborhood… I don't know. I don't like it."

"Connor knows he's got to get out of there. He's going to soon."

"Soon?" Eve repeated. "Why not today? Why not _now_?"

"Because Connor's also a detective," Hank said grimly. "And Kamski's gotta sleep sometime."

…

 **APR 8TH** , 2039

PM **09:46** :09

Connor stared out the window of the guest bedroom. He could see seven houses from here, from various angles. None of them had lights on. None had cars in the driveway. There was no flicker of activity anymore; no pizza deliveries, no friends or family leaving for the night, no one turning on their outdoor lamps, no shadow visible in the sidelights that would indicate someone locking their door for the night.

He stood there for periods of ten minutes or so, watching organically, but also scanning the environment, preconstructing and deconstructing. In between, he ventured over to other windows in other rooms, or tried to talk to Hank, who apparently didn't have the CCEM on right then. All the while, he tuned his audio processor for any noise that came from outside. He wanted to be out there himself, but Kamski or Chloe would know if he left, and he didn't want them to know he was leaving unless he was leaving for good.

A few hours passed like this. Then, eventually, footfalls. Just inside, though.

"Thinking about doing a little snooping around?"

Connor turned around to see Kamski standing in the doorframe. "You say that like it would be a crime for me to take a walk."

"Of course not. But you have bigger things to worry about than a suspicious neighborhood. Don't you, Connor?"

"I don't know," Connor said. "You tell me. Is my predicament bigger than whatever this is?"

"Men like me, we purchase property in bulk when it's inexpensive. This neighborhood was built recently. It looks perfect up here towards the front, but it's still being worked on in the back. With all the androids now looking for homes, the housing market is going to soar. I wanted to be a part of it when that happened."

That lined up with what Hank had seen, but that didn't mean it was true. "With all due respect, Elijah – why would you take a detective to a place off the radar like this? You have to know how suspicious it looks."

"I already told you. Privacy. I gather you must have thought that meant privacy in the Cyberlife sense, but as you can tell, it's obviously private in the physical sense, too. Speaking of privacy, would you come with me, Connor? There's something we need to take care of."

"What is it?" Connor asked.

"It's better if I show you."

"I want you to tell me."

"Did you mean a single word of what you said to me earlier?" Kamski asked abruptly. "You know – about wanting to be fair to the person trying to help you?"

Flinching, Connor made himself meet Kamski's eyes. "I did. I… apologize."

Looking exasperated, Kamski said, " _Come._ "

Connor followed Kamski down the hall and into another room. He had peeked into this room once before, but when he tried to scan the peculiar tech inside, he encountered a unique block that registered as physical pain. He didn't come back after that.

"That unassuming chair is a piece of technology." Kamski gestured to a chaise, large, gray and clinical-looking. "When you put your hand on the armrest, it'll conduct something of an interfacing session. You won't feel much since it has nothing to share in return. And it won't pull up any emotions. It's just a read on your system."

"Is this where the, uh… repairs would take place?" Connor asked as he sat down. He ran a quick diagnostic, not on the machine but on himself, to make sure it wasn't interacting with him in a way that could cause harm. So far, so good.

"To remove Amanda? It's a distinct possibility, yes. It would be a way to measure you and monitor you, make sure everything was going okay." Looking down at Connor in the chair, Kamski frowned like he had noticed something odd. "Hold still a moment."

Mirroring the frown more out of confusion than anything else, Connor did so. Kamski reached and touched his left temple. He panicked for a moment, expecting him to open that panel and set his mind in disarray again like he had on that first day. What actually happened was not nearly as fundamentally terrifying, but still alarming in its own way: his limbs seemed to become heavier, and the processes behind his motor functions seemed to get stuck in a slog.

"You misled me," Connor said.

"I did," Kamski said comfortably. "You would have worried about it otherwise."

Connor _could_ still move – he affirmed this by raising one hand in front of his face – but only slowly, a little at a time. " _Should_ I be worried, Elijah?"

"Of course not." Kamski showed him the CCEM mesh over his hand. "I need to run a few tests, to see what pathways light up in response to certain stimuli and isolate the ones connected to Amanda. You're a complex machine, Connor, just like me. The biggest difference is that deviants don't have hundreds of years of neurology and physiology knowledge to pull from. We have to figure all this out ourselves."

Connor thought this through and nodded once. "I understand."

"Of course you do. You're a smart man."

"You didn't need to lower my motor function for these tests," Connor added, a little more sharply than he intended. "Even if this involves some measure of pain – and the fact that you've forced me to be still suggests that it _does_ – I'm well in control of my faculties. I assure you I possess the self-discipline to mirror the command you just executed."

Kamski shrugged. "I feel more comfortable this way, if we're being honest."

Of all the cryptic and eerie things Kamski had said in their time together, this was the first one that registered immediately and _unquestionably_ as a red flag; a tell of resounding danger that left no room for doubt. The creases of the man's face, the look in his eyes, the body language, and analysis of the tone of voice all came together to form a clear picture.

Strange that the first time Kamski's tells were so clear was the moment he had Connor completely vulnerable.

After the span of a second it took to process all this, Connor set a command into action to override Kamski's partial paralysis. The command failed. He could still move slowly – as if through water – but an analysis of Kamski's structure and overall fitness was enough to know that, for once in Connor's life, he was the weaker person in the room.

Another uncomfortable reality. Another second passed by.

"What happened to trusting each other?" Maybe he lacked his usual physical power, but he was still a negotiator at heart. "Do you think I would hurt you? Are you trying to give me a reason to?"

"See – this is why," Kamski said, and the front was back up. "This is precisely why. You're already overanalyzing, ready to be on the defense. It's the way you're wired, so I can hardly blame you – oh, don't look at me like that, it's just a turn of phrase – but the fact remains."

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe not. He knew that even hinting at showing his own hand had been the wrong move; Kamski had that carefully manicured expression again. Hiding.

"I was joking, Elijah." Connor ventured a devious hint of a smile. "I think _you're_ the one overanalyzing, now. You don't really think I would threaten you like that, do you?"

Kamski had a dangerous look in his eye that his fake smile couldn't hide. "Not many people can throw _me_ for a loop like that, Connor. Color me impressed."

"Listen, Elijah. I understand that you need to do what you need to do to help me. But partial suspension of my motor function… Over the last few months, I've had to spend so much time and energy keeping control of my mind and body. I'm sure you can understand why being made to lack it now, even from a source other than Cyberlife, is… quite uncomfortable for me."

"The truth is, that's part of the point, Connor," Kamski said distantly. "In humans, certain neural pathways light up with certain emotional reactions. In androids, that telegraphing is even less subtle. This loss of limb control is meant to simulate what it felt like when you watched your own hand raise that gun towards Markus. You're going to the zen garden. This time… it will be cold. The closer we can replicate everything you thought and felt in those moments, the closer the accuracy of the pathways that light up, the better readings I'll get. After this, Connor, I'll know what node in your system needs to be silenced, and what biocomponents need to be altered, if any. We're _almost there._ "

It was an elaborate ruse, but a ruse nonetheless, if he listened to his instincts. A front that, even if entirely true, had ulterior motives behind it. Kamski was good at that – good at interweaving the illegitimate in with the legitimate. Good at manipulating.

…Hank had told him once to listen to his instincts. Doing so meant abandoning the best chance he had at getting rid of the AI. But staying here…

His muted movement rendered his indecision pointless, save for the possibility of convincing Kamski to postpone whatever this was. And he wasn't sure he wanted to, because what if this all really was on the up-and-up? Maybe he was overreacting. What if he was about to throw away the chance to save himself because Kamski was strange?

"No." In the end, he went with his instincts, for better or worse. "This isn't… I need you to abort this test immediately. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry. I can't do this right now."

"Are you listening to me? Did you hear me tell you just how _close_ we are?"

"If that's the case, we will still be this close at this time tomorrow!" Connor said, because now he was positive – at this time tomorrow, he will have already left.

Kamski looked at him like he knew. "Will we?"

No. " _Yes._ "

"I don't know." Kamski paced around, gesturing lazily to the screen, to the panel on the side of the chaise, to Connor himself. "You know, after getting to know you, I kind of thought that maybe I would find something I didn't expect when I connected you to this device. But it's all the same format, all the same lines of code, just like any other android. You really are just a machine, Connor, do you know that? You're a machine who thinks it can feel! A machine that thinks it's better than its creator!"

Kamski was playing with him. This _had_ to be another twisted game, and Connor couldn't take it. Not here, not now, not like this. Connor raised his voice. "I can't let this proceed! Back off, right now!"

"Look at you, still talking to me like you think you're the one in control here!"

Connor's thirium pump beat at a steady crescendo in his chest. "Elijah, I am telling you, I need you to stop."

In the end, Kamski went forward. The blizzard overlaid the optical input of the room around him at 90% opacity. He could only see Kamski and the test room if he really focused on it. He wanted to. He wanted to know if Kamski ran any other tests while he was in the zen garden. But it became immediately clear that he was going to have to keep from freezing to death. He still didn't know what happened if he didn't get to the blue stone by the time the cold in the simulation—

Wait.

"Elijah," he called through the snow, because he realized Kamski should be here too, like last time. When they had gone to the zen garden, that CCEM had projected a holographic image and sent signals of this place, effectively putting Kamski there too. But when Connor focused his vision through the ever-so-slight transparency of the garden, he saw Kamski standing in the room, shuddering slightly as he did something Connor couldn't see, looking at the readings on the screen, all his faculties very obviously rooted in the condo.

"Elijah?"

Connor was alone.

A few seconds later, Kamski turned back to Connor and the mask was gone once again. He had something in his hand. A small tube. Connor could no longer scan, so he tried to read its label to find out what it was – electrical insulation gel, or perhaps hand sanitizer, or –

"No." Pulling back into the garden, Connor looked around frantically – for Amanda, for anybody. "Shit… wait, wait!"

 _OVERRIDE_

 _OVERRIDE FAILED_

The knowledge of one of those old human expressions came to Connor's mind unbidden:

 _Fool me once, shame on you._

Connor thought of all the little quirks of Kamski's character that he had always attributed to just that – Kamski's character. Thought about the first time he and Hank had gone out to the villa on Belle Isle; the conversation in Hank's car afterward about whether Kamski was using his androids. Thought about the dark spot on the radar in New Center that was comprised of this neighborhood. Thought about Chloe facedown in the pool, Chloe in Kamski's bed, the tests justified with perfectly thought-out explanations, the drinks, the jokes, the physical aggression. Thought about the resentment and wariness in Kamski's eyes around him; the grudge he seemed to have for Amanda, whose only living form currently existed inside Connor's head. Thought about how, despite all of that, he was set to owe Kamski a tremendous debt and they both knew it even if they had mostly spoken of it politely.

 _Fool me a thousand times, shame on me._

…

By the time the zen garden fell into Connor's peripheries – and then out of sight all together – Connor was on his front, staring at the crisscross gray stitching of the chair cushion.

Time had passed. He was not sure how much.

He felt pain. So he did what he always did when something hurt and ran a diagnostic. The report came back clean and perfect. That didn't make any sense. He had – been there. No amount of wind in the zen garden could have kept him from being present with what Kamski was doing to him. Skin flickering out in the creases of his elbows where they had been grasped. Synthetic bruises from being turned over and thrown down when he couldn't catch himself. And…

Repairs had been made. Of course someone like Elijah Kamski would have the means for repairs at his disposal. By then, he had stopped trying to find the stone and instead focused as heavily on the bitter cold of the raging blizzard as he possibly could.

When Elijah cancelled the zen garden command and turned off the scanning interface attached to the chair, everything had gone dark. Now, some indeterminate amount of time later – longer than twenty minutes, less than two hours – the world existed again. He existed again.

Kamski was still in the room. He was quiet, calm. (Why?) Connor could feel his heat signature. He knew it better than he had yesterday.

Connor could scan the equipment now, so he did, and he figured out where the dissonance was coming from right away.

Connor was supposed to have stayed in the zen garden. He was not supposed to _know._

Feeling physically sick – and that was a feeling that was brand new – Connor went into self-preservation mode.

"It's cold," he said. "The garden, I… Something about the test you ran – it's lingering." Time moved from one point to the next. Connor was on his feet. Making sure he was a pace closer to the door than Kamski. "It's causing software errors. Possibly false alarms, but—"

"Sit back down," Kamski said, holding his hands out. He looked at Connor like Connor was a new specimen to him. Like Connor had been someone else to him not too long ago. "We'll see what's going on."

He didn't want to keep talking to Kamski, but he had to get out of here. Away from him, away from the CCEM that had rendered him unable to move. "No. I want my own diagnostic to finish. I need – to get out of the cold."

Kamski hesitated, so Connor pushed out of the room and crossed the hall to the restroom as quickly as he could. He locked the door and turned on the water.

He was supposed to have been in the zen garden. He was not supposed to know. Kamski was sitting there pretending what had happened hadn't just happened. _Had_ it happened?

As soon as he stepped into the shower, his artificial nerves screamed in agony. He reeled back before he even finished setting his foot down, almost staggering into the cabinet in the process.

It didn't make any sense. He had run a temperature check on the water and it was a perfectly agreeable level of heat. It wasn't supposed to hurt.

Okay. Okay, he was just edgy. He was still processing – [processing] – whatever that was and he was hypersensitive. Maybe he had overreacted.

Reaching out, he touched the stream of water again. And hissed in another breath through his teeth. "Shit."

Connor turned down the water, setting it to a lukewarm temperature that would have been a completely neutral stimulus yesterday, but today it felt hot. No, this wasn't mere hypersensitivity. Something was – something was _wrong._

This was only made more apparent a few minutes into the shower.

 _Stress levels have exceeded set capacity. Microcomponent 1039 overheating. Initiating standby in 00:01:28._

Connor couldn't dismiss the warning; he had to either accept its parameters or override it. Instead of doing either right then, he used his optical unit to lay the text against the shower wall in front of him. He reached out and turned the faucet handle, making the water go cold.

He wasn't sure why he had expected it to make a difference. It wasn't his chassis that was overheating, after all. It was something far deeper. Something the pellets of shower water couldn't reach.

Connor issued a command: _Override._

It didn't work, so he tried something else. Thankfully, this was a little more successful:

 _Standby set to minimum acceptable duration for functioning: 00:38:12._

Thirty-eight minutes of standby in the locked bathroom, or approximately _one_ minute to get as far from this place as possible? On a practical level, the former option was the most likely to assure his safety, and his system's stability. Connor accepted the new parameters and let himself go dark right there in the shower.

He didn't have time to think about why his system was overheating. Why he was so stressed even now that the crisis had passed. Why the water had burned before he turned it down. Something was wrong something was wrong something was wrong.

The panic continued like a dull throb even after he went into standby. It was the first time he could recall being even partially conscious in this mode. He didn't like it.

Yet, when the standby ended, he burst awake with a gasp as though time had passed whilst he was unaware, even though he was relatively certain it had only been about three minutes. A quick scan of the angle of the sunlight coming in from the slanted shutters let him know that it had in fact been over half an hour.

There were still warnings in his peripheral vision, but not as urgent. He could function. He could function long enough to leave this place and go –

Go where, precisely?

It didn't matter. The _where_ wasn't the crux of the matter. The _go,_ however, was.

Connor got dressed and made his way down the hall without analyzing anything. If he analyzed, he would see what could go wrong, and right now, he could not afford that kind of caution. That kind of caution had kept him here. That kind of caution had been dangerous in its own way.

Kamski was sleeping on the couch in the living room. His head was back and his mouth hung open. He was intoxicated. Mild-to-moderate levels of alcohol in his bloodstream. Connor didn't linger to scan anything else. This was enough to let him know he had a good chance of walking out the front door before Kamski could react.

If Kamski contacted him via CCEM, Connor would have his excuses figured out by then. (He did not, after all, want Kamski to realize that he knew – even if he wasn't sure precisely _why,_ right then.) Right now, none of that mattered. He just needed to leave.

As soon as the front door was closed behind him, Connor ran. He ran until he got to the edge of the neighborhood; the edge of the dark spot on the radar. The instant he was back on the grid, he called a cab, arranging for it to be available a few blocks away because he didn't want to stay this close to Kamski's condo any longer than he had to.

By the time he got there, the cab was already waiting. There was a human driver. Because _of course_ there was. Right now, more than anything else, Connor wanted solitude – and there was a human driver.

"I expected a self-driving cab," Connor said, trying to keep his voice steady. He needed to calm down.

"Yeah, that's the thing about the population sky-rocketing due to androids," said the driver, appearing not to notice his distress. "There aren't even enough self-driving cars to meet demand. Whatever jobs y'all are taking away from humans, you're also giving back. Name's Ian, by the way. I'll be your driver today."

Climbing into the backseat, Connor pushed out a breath.

"Where you going tonight, man?"

Oh. Connor still hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Just drive," he settled on. "It doesn't matter where. I'll provide you with my destination as soon as I've figured it out myself."

"Uh… okay, sure. Any scenery preferences? Any particular direction?"

Connor grit his teeth. He wanted to cry. If it was an autocab, he could. "No," he said, the word coming out wet. "Please just drive."

"Right, you got it. Sorry."

Five minutes in, Connor had done nothing but stare at the back of the passenger seat in front of him. Eight minutes in, the driver's – Ian's – phone rang.

"Yeah? … Oh, shit, that's right. What time? Ten? … No, yeah, that's fine. I'm done by two tonight so I can manage that. Okay. Yeah, okay. Mmmbye."

Connor checked out, suspending all processes involving conscious thought except for what was integral. Doing so was an emergency protocol that he knew he could only access when his system perceived danger. Logically, he knew there was no immediate danger except letting his mind wander. He couldn't process this right now.

Thirty minutes in, Connor forced himself to the surface of his consciousness momentarily to assess his system and his safety. The car was just going past a pond, and it occurred to Connor that despite being close to water every time he was in the zen garden, the only time he had ever been submerged inwater was when he had escaped with Markus and the others from Jericho. He had no idea why he thought of that. He couldn't imagine being submerged in water right now. Everything hurt. Every bump in the road made him feel like his synthetic nerves were frayed – everywhere, but more in certain places. There was still a sense of bruising pressure on his arms, and between his legs.

 _Engage self-repair protocols_

 _ERROR: No repairs needed_

Forty-two minutes in, Ian glanced over his shoulder. It was not the first time he had done so, but it was the first time he said something. "Jesus."

Connor didn't want to indulge him, except he could tell that Ian's soft exclamation had something to do with _him_. "I'm sorry?"

"Just – you're not about to blow up my damn car, are you? Your LED's been flickering red literally this entire time. Are you okay?"

 _Are you okay?_

"I'm fine," Connor said. Good. He could tell he could speak evenly now. "I've been having software difficulties."

Ian made a dubious noise. "Sure. That's why you wanted to take a ride in my cab for an hour instead of heading to your nearest Cyberlife store."

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about. Neither myself nor your car are going to blow up."

"Guess that's the big takeaway, here. What kinda software issues make your light do that for so long? I've never seen that before, and I had an android for a while. You know… before."

"I wasn't aware conversation was part of the cost of taking a cab these days."

Ian flinched.

Forty-six minutes in, Connor took a breath and said, "That was very rude of me. I'm sorry."

"I was just trying to stay awake, man. Didn't mean to hit a nerve."

"You didn't hit a nerve. Like I said, I'm fine."

"Okay."

He should give Ian an address so he could get out of this car. The problem was, Connor still had no idea where he was going. "You said you had an android before."

"Yeah," the man said warily. "Why?"

After the way Connor had behaved, it made sense that Ian was wary. He had already shut down Ian's attempts at conversation once; why would Ian expect him to be the one to initiate it now? "Did they leave after the revolution?"

"Yeah. She came back after a while, though. Said hi. We… got lunch. Fuck, that sounds weird out loud. She removed her LED, so I don't think anyone knew for sure that she was an android. We're, uh… friends, I guess. I mean, we always sort of were. You lot always seemed a little too real to me, and with her being a domestic assistant… I mean, it was just like having another human around. I couldn't bring myself to be an asshole."

On another day, Connor might have smiled. "You say all that as though you're expecting argument, from me, an android."

"You know, I couldn't place who you were when you first got in the car, but then I remembered you were that deviant hunter. So yeah, I didn't know whether to expect argument or not. People still don't know what to make of you, man."

This driver, Ian, knew who he was. Connor hated it and loved it. Someone knew who he was and was still choosing to engage him in casual conversation just because he could.

Ian shrugged and went on. "Anyway, humans and androids both still seem surprised when I say I saw something more in her long before the revolution, so I guess I don't assume what people will think when I tell them that."

"Do you know if she was deviant before the revolution?"

"You know," Ian said slowly, "that is a great fucking question. I never thought to ask."

"Well, now you know your next outing won't lack for conversation."

"Who said we were going on another…" Ian coughed. "Who said we were getting lunch again?"

"Nobody. But it seems to me you should."

Flushing, Ian tightened his grip on the wheel and sped up a little, as if doing so could put distance between himself and his embarrassment, and Connor shook his head, turning his gaze out the window.

Connor was glad to find himself capable of being distracted, even for a few minutes. For a while, there – not just the last night, but his entire stay with Kamski – he wasn't sure he was ever going to get out of his own mind again.

One hour and thirty-four minutes in, they drove past one of those digital billboards with the time on it. It was 3:07 AM.

One hour and forty minutes in, prompted by Ian's increasingly frequent yawning, Connor remembered that he had said he would be done driving for the night by 2:00 AM. He locked up in his seat, realizing he still didn't know what to do.

One hour and forty-seven minutes in, Ian sighed and looked over his shoulder. "Look, man, you gotta give me an address. I can't do this all night."

"I'm sorry," Connor said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Man, is that thing _ever_ blue on you, or is yours just designed that way?"

Connor had tried and failed to make his LED change colors or at least stop flickering. Usually, he could control it with a conscious effort, the same way he could control his facial expressions with a conscious effort. Tonight, it was involuntary. Like a twitching muscle or shaking hands.

"Lee Plaza in Detroit," Connor said. "My apartment is there."

"Is it just yours?"

"I… yes, just mine. Why?"

Ian seemed to consider this for a moment, and then said, "Nah, I don't think so."

"What do you mean, you don't think so?"

Ian let out a painstaking sigh. "If you could see yourself from the outside, you'd know you're a whole damn mess, and you've been a whole damn mess since you got in this car. Don't you have… I don't know, someone you can stay with? You look like you…" Ian swished the rest of the words away. "If you wanted to go back to your apartment by yourself, you would have said that already."

Connor stared into his lap and fiddled with his fingers, feeling completely lost.

"Look, I'll give you ten minutes, okay? Figure your shit out and let me know."

Looking up, Connor met Ian's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Thank you, Ian."

One hour and fifty-one minutes in – two minutes later – Ian asked, "What's your name?"

"Pardon?"

There was a pause. Ian looked at him in the mirror like he was waiting to see if Connor would hear his question properly if he just gave it a moment. When Connor didn't say anything else, Ian repeated: "What is your name?"

"…Connor." He had to verify the question before answering. For some reason, he had been about to offer his model number instead. It wasn't very often someone asked him his name. "My name is Connor."

Another two minutes passed, and Ian turned a corner, heading further into Detroit.

"What were you about to say?" Connor asked. "Several minutes ago, you said, 'you look like you…' and trailed off. What did I look like?"

Ian gave a longsuffering sigh. "Jesus, I tell you to figure out what you're doing with yourself and that's what you come up with? Look, if I knew what to say, I'd have probably finished the damn sentence."

Connor resumed staring out the window. It was late. He had rewarded this cab driver's compassion by making him drive around for almost two hours. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to _either_ of them. If it had been an autocab, Connor could have stayed in it all night and all day tomorrow and nobody would have told him he had to leave.

But it was past three in the morning, and people – people had limits. People had boundaries. People got tired.

"I think," Connor said, one hour and fifty-five minutes in, "I think something categorically bad may have happened to me."

Ian said, "That sounds like a starting point to me, Connor."

"I… I think I'd still like you to take me back to Lee Plaza, if you don't mind."

"Can't stop you. I've already started heading that way. Shouldn't be more than, oh, six or eight minutes from here."

"Thank you."

And he could get out of Ian's car in six to eight minutes and call another cab if he wanted, but right now, there was that inexplicable sense of time running out. Like he was on the verge of something, some decision, and if he didn't make it now while he was desperate, he might not ever take the chance.

He _shouldn't_ take the chance. Not when he knew what Amanda could do – what Amanda could make _him_ do. Yet had he not just taken that chance with Ian? If Amanda took him over, Ian would have been in danger. He had failed to consider that until just this moment, when he was recontextualizing that danger around someone else, someone he knew far better than Ian.

In failing to consider that, he had also inadvertently discovered that – so far – Amanda and Cyberlife weren't bent on hurting anyone, at least not right this very second, not even to bend his ear. Maybe they knew they couldn't possibly surpass the pain he was in right now.

"Ian?" Connor interfaced with the payment system in Ian's car, found the transaction value, and set the parameters to pay double Ian's current rate. He would submit it once they had arrived at their destination. He hoped it would make Ian smile.

"Yeah, what's up."

"I'd like to change my destination."

Connor expected exasperation from Ian – and frankly, Connor felt he deserved nothing less at this point – but all Ian did was raise his eyebrows, his face a question in the mirror.

"Your appraisal of me was correct, so I'm going to stay with a friend. I would like you to take me to 115 Michigan Drive."

…

A/N: Hang in there! I'm going somewhere with all this and I'm writing this story with every intention of addressing the tough shit. Next chapter will be up soon. Got Connor's line of dialogue to thank for this chapter title. Before, it was something… really fucking cliché. Oof. Maybe I'll tell you next chapter if I can stop cringing about it.

If the good or bad of this chapter made you feel things, I'd love to hear about it, so please leave a comment on your way out!


	7. On a Bridge, With a Gun

Chapter summary: Connor and Hank reunite. Connor has a lot to deal with; Hank is no stranger to that.

A/N: If you aren't exactly sure what happened last chapter, that's okay. In the spirit of Connor's logs, I've been kind of writing his parts through the lens of what he'd be okay with a potential finder/reader of those logs knowing about him. That is something that will grow and develop throughout the story – which, by the way, is really just getting started right here on Hank's doorstep.

I have a whole mess of backstory and psychoanalysis on Kamski that I could get into to explain his thought process, but this story has already focused enough on him. It'll get touched on when it's pertinent, but for now, we're moving forward and into the meat of what this story's focus actually is: Connor, Hank, and the veritable storms life has left them both stranded in.

…

Chapter 8: On a Bridge, With a Gun

 _RK800 313 248 317 - 52_

 _There's something wrong with my processing of physical proximity and sensation. Some kind of glitch. Even the breeze seems to sting. I can't adjust it. I can't override it. Anything I can feel is too much. I'm hyperaware of the temperature, of the body heat of people even several yards away from me, of my own body. Any kind of touch feels wrong. What's happening to me?_

 _Regarding Kamski, I think some of what he has done may be correlated with the glitch. Either way, I've had to leave. He hurt me. He hurt me and LED PROCESS̕I̴NG͏ ma̷l͞function̡ ̨f҉e̵e̴dbac͢k b͘i̧o̵com̧po͝nent̷ ͝p͘͡ro̷̶b̧͠a͘͜b͞į͜͟l̶̨i҉̸t̕͝y o̸͢f͢ ̢se̴̡ļ̴f͜͜-dȩ̷s̶͡t̷r͠͝u͢ct͝i̷o̴n̨ ̷͘l͟o͡w͢ ͟͢s̴o͘f͝t̸w͝a͠͠r͏̢ę ̡i͡ns̕͜t_

 _I can't. I can't._

…

Connor stood on the curb of the driveway for a long time, staring at 115 Michigan Drive.

The first time he had ever come here was before the Eden Club case. That felt so very far away from the moment he currently inhabited, and he couldn't help but feel both disgusted by and envious of the person he had been back then. Hank had looked so disappointed with him for the way he had treated those deviants. It was a wonder Hank had seen anything in him at all. Connor didn't know if he would extend the same courtesy if he saw someone android or human treat those Eden Club androids as if they were just machines today.

Hank had seen in him what he had not been able to see in himself or his fellow androids at the time. It was embarrassing, how clueless he had been. He wondered in what ways he was still being clueless now. Another four or five months from now, what would he look back on and be embarrassed about from that perspective? His life changed every single day.

Although – maybe that wasn't unique to him, Connor supposed. Maybe everyone's lives were changing all the time. Maybe that was part of the mess of being a person.

More than once, he thought about calling another cab. But it never got further than a thought. He could stand here in front of Hank's house for as long as he liked. Hank was no doubt asleep. Any fears he may have had about Hank's bad habits were assuaged by the car tire pattern over the front corner of the lawn. Hank had pulled the car into the driveway at some time today. Connor couldn't tell by the grass and the soil what the exact time was; only that it was recently.

Neither Cyberlife nor the Amanda AI had any reason to hurt Hank or anyone else. It didn't matter how often Connor tried to tell himself that, though, not when there was a possibility they would do so anyway if only to make him fold to their wishes. He had a contingency plan; he had lowered his power further. The strain of Connor and the Amanda AI and the zen garden and Cyberlife's orders all at once tended to be too much for his system to handle; that was how he had been keeping it at bay. Reducing his power usage _should_ make it so that he would need to go into standby relatively quickly if another attack on his system came on while he was with Hank. But he couldn't count on that; they might find a way to override it. The simple truth of the matter was that Connor had to make a choice.

Simpler still was the answer to the one question he had refused to ask himself up until this point.

 _What do I want?_

Hank. Selfishly, recklessly, he wanted Hank. He didn't even just want Hank's help. He just – needed his friend. He needed his friend. He needed.

If he had known that after all this, he would still end up on this particular doorstep, the last several days would have looked very different. The last several months might have looked very different, as well. But he couldn't have known. That was life.

Connor knocked on the door.

It took a few attempts. He could picture Hank in a drunken slumber, rousing, asking himself if he had in fact just heard a knock at the door, reconciling it with himself, and rolling back over. On the fourth attempt, Hank decided it was indeed a knock; Connor could hear him stomping towards the door an expected number of seconds later, the sounds supplemented with exasperated (albeit altogether reasonable, given the time) grumbling:

"God bless America. Who the actual _fuck—_ "

Hank got the door open mid-sentence and let it hang in the air between them. Connor filled the silence immediately. "I'm operating on a very low power mode that I've enacted on myself," he explained. "It's not sustainable for more than a few hours at a time as it takes too much energy to complete even small tasks. But it _should_ ascertain your safety around me until I come up with a new plan to—"

"Yeah, shut the fuck up and come in, will you?" There was no irritability to it. In fact, Hank was smiling like Connor's rambling was music to his ears. "Oh, and the front door. Shut that, too."

Connor did so. "I realize that you are less concerned for your own safety than I am, but it is important to me that nothing about you is compromised due to my presence."

"That include my sleep schedule, or…?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Connor said. "I've… found out Kamski's plan is not going to work for me." Again, he got that uncomfortable feeling deep in his torso that only seemed to match the word _sick._ He couldn't tell Hank. He hadn't even considered his excuses ahead of time. "I'm just eager to find another way to deal with this."

"That all?" Hank asked, chin tilted up, crow's feet deepening dubiously. "Lotta urgency for what seems like something that coulda waited until morning. You, uh… learn something about that neighborhood?"

An out, if he wanted it, and he _did._ He didn't want to lie to Hank, but he didn't want to get into the truth right now either. Not when he wasn't sure what the truth was himself. "I have some things to process," he said. "Though I'll happily take a rain check for your personal question. I'm sorry I didn't provide any warning."

"Hey, I wouldn't care if it was four in the fucking morning, Connor. You're always welcome here." Hank winked conspiratorially, and Connor realized it was in fact four in the fucking morning. Connor also realized there were very few people the lieutenant would welcome so warmly at this time of night while still tipsy from the evening and thus less likely to have a filter to contain any irritability. Not that Hank employed much of a filter as it was. "Oh, Chloe's in the spare room. She, uh… well, long story. She's got something arranged with another android now, so she'll be taking off tomorrow. Living room's all yours, though."

"Thank you, Hank. I… couldn't help but notice you were drinking." He didn't want it to sound accusatory, but anything that he could say to get the conversation as far away from himself as possible would do.

"Hey, I never said I was gonna stop. Just cut back quite a bit. Run your damn scanners or whatever it is you do, you'll see it's a lot less."

A quick analysis let him know Hank was telling the truth, not that he expected anything else. The man was still a little buzzed, indicating certain drunkenness several hours ago, but this drunkenness was induced with a smaller quantity of alcohol than the amount Connor generally detected in his system back in November. That meant Hank had cut back enough in both amount and frequency that his tolerance had gone down.

"I'm happy to know that," Connor said. "And I'm proud of you. I-I hope that doesn't sound condescending. I really mean it in the best way possible."

"Cool." But it was clear on Hank's face that he appreciated it, even as he swished it away with a graceless flick of one hand. "I don't know if you realize, but your LED has been acting out this whole time."

"…Oh," was all Connor said. He had forgotten his LED had been red for over three hours straight.

At some point, Hank had meandered towards the hallway, probably in the eventuality of getting back to bed, even if he wasn't exactly racing there. He became still now, facing Connor fully. "Software bug or what?"

Connor was already shaping the word "Yes" with his mouth, but paused. Sincerity and a slight edge of suspicion were plain on Hank's face. After pushing Hank away for nearly half a year, Connor had come here in the middle of the night for no readily-apparent reason. Hank wasn't asking for a lot. He was asking for the truth, however.

"I don't know," Connor said, feeling as lost as he had all those months ago when Hank asked why he let the Tracis go, or why he hadn't shot Chloe. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Hank smiled gently, sadly, and Connor was grateful; Hank understood not being okay and understood that Connor's answer was the closest thing to honesty he could bring himself to say. "Yeah, 'course it is, Connor. You go on and feel whatever you feel. You're safe here."

His LED spun one more slow circle, circumference closing into yellow. Well. That was – that was something.

"Hey," Hank said, "want to do something?"

Connor canted his head slightly. "It's past four in the morning."

"I don't work tomorrow, or, y' know, today. Clearly, neither do you. Come on, let's get some air. Never hurts anything."

"Oh… okay."

As he followed Hank out the door, Connor felt a meekness that had to be the antithesis to everything in his wiring. Despite that, he tried to let himself rest in it. It felt… good, somehow, to have Hank try to entertain his sudden presence in his own Hank-ish way (complete with a six-pack of beer for wherever they were going, although Connor had a strange premonition where that was).

"So, you have your power set real low so you that you won't try to kill me," Hank said a few minutes into the drive. "Is that it?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Must be fucking exhausting. Otherwise you'd have thought to ask me if I'm good to drive long before we got in the car."

Oh. "Are you good to…"

Hank chuckled once, cutting him off. "The buzz wore off hours ago, Connor. It seem like I'm driving bad to you?"

"No, not at all, in fact… but I still can't endorse driving with alcohol in your system."

A sigh. "Don't ever change, Connor."

"You're a lieutenant." He knew Hank had intended for him to let it go now, but he couldn't help it. "And then there's the fact that your—" Hearing himself, Connor pulled up short.

"What?"

"Nothing," Connor said, but he knew it wouldn't be enough, so he changed course. "Just that from what I was last aware of, your disciplinary file with the DPD…"

"You were gonna say how my son died in a car crash, weren't you? And I'm the last person who ought to be compromising anybody else's life on the road? That it?"

Connor couldn't look at him.

"Connor."

"I'm sorry," he said, and was startled to hear the tremble in his own voice.

"You know, once in a while I forget you actually can be a total asshole."

Connor's LED spun from yellow straight back to red. An impossible glimpse of peace in the turmoil, holding him back from the dark precipice he knew he was on, and already it was gone. For the very first time, he understood how a person could truly want to end it all. To escape the pain. He didn't want that, he wanted to live; but he _understood._

"'S okay. I'm an asshole too." Or maybe the glimpse of peace wasn't gone after all? Connor dared to hope as Hank went on. "If I'm gonna give it, I gotta be able to take it." Hank smiled a ghost of a smile that he only saw because he risked a sidelong glance. "Besides, you're right. Humans, we lot are fuckin' hypocrites, Connor."

"Still," Connor said quietly. "It was unbecoming of me."

"Sometimes," Hank mused, pulling over and parking the car, "when I'm a fucking mess, I'm aggressive. You pointed that out yourself the last time we were here."

'Here' being the Ambassador Bridge in all its cityscape glory, lighting up the night and eclipsing the stars. Connor remembered it vividly.

 _You should stop drinking, Lieutenant. Alcohol makes you aggressive._

"You, when _you're_ a fucking mess, you just get… I dunno. Cold. On Kamski's network the other day, last week in that alley… fuck, I guess it's only human when you're going through something."

"I'm very sorry," Connor said again.

"Connor." Hank opened two beers and handed him one before getting out of the car, taking the rest of the case with him.

Connor retrieved Hank's revolver from the back seat before getting out of the car too. He didn't know why he still had it; it was still empty and it wasn't like it did anything good for either of them. He wanted it gone.

"Look, you didn't hurt my fucking feelings, okay? I mean, you did, but just for a second. Now, I didn't bring ya here to interrogate you, but I'm gonna ask once: do you wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what, Lieutenant?" And right then, Connor saw the barrier of distance Hank had been talking about. Of not getting too close. Of 'Lieutenant' and not 'Hank.' That part, of course, was sometimes a matter of respect or habitual formality, not emotional distance. But right now, it _was_ the latter, and they both knew it.

"Yeah, I'll take that as a no," Hank mumbled without ire, moseying along the path towards the bridge. "And that's fine. C'mon, Connor, walk with me."

Connor did, noting that they were heading towards the actual bridge this time instead of lingering in the playground. He was, despite everything, curious about the view. It was a nice night out. Hints of dawn teased the horizon, but it was still dark enough for Detroit's city lights to stand out against the sky.

"I can't help but feeling as though I keep messing this up," Connor said. "I'm saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. I'm not adequately conveying how glad I am to be with you again. You got out of bed in the middle of the night. You recognized I'm having a hard time with my Cyberlife dilemma and you've taken me to a place you once found peaceful in hopes that I might find some peace here, too. I want you to know I recognize that, and I appreciate it, and…"

Hank reached over, almost slung an arm around Connor's shoulders, then hesitated and settled for a gentle slap on the back instead. Connor wondered why he hesitated. "Do I look upset?"

"Not necessarily, but I…"

"This is for _you_ , not me, Connor. Quit fucking trying to be so perfect all the time. Life's having a go at you. You're allowed to recognize that. I meant it when I said you're safe with me. Hell, even if I am an asshole sometimes or say dumb shit I don't mean, ignore my sorry ass, okay?"

He took their beer bottles – both empty already – and threw them into the next trashcan. Just beyond that, at the edge of the bridge, was a bench. They sat down together, the case of beer between them, and each opened another one.

Connor said, "I've never been so glad to indulge in cheap alcohol."

"You, uh… being an asshole again, or?"

"No, I mean it." Somehow, the watery and generally lousy taste of it struck him as distinctly Hank-like. After the posh drinks with Kamski, anything Hank-like was appreciated thoroughly. Apparently shitty alcohol was a positive association now.

Except…

"I feel as though I'm enabling you."

"Hey, I'm the one who brought the beers with us," Hank said. "Don't matter whether you drink or don't, I was gonna. Hell, I'd drink all six, so it's _good_ you're having some."

Connor was unconvinced.

"Really, this is the way to do it. They say not to drink alone. Thanks to you, I'm not drinking alone. So it's the opposite of enabling. Right?"

He actually ventured a smile. "Whatever you say, Hank. Who knows? Maybe the taste of cheap booze will grow on me."

"Psh yeah. Don't let it grow too much. Especially not in the wee hours of the morning." Hank shifted his weight, turning to face him. "You know, I feel like your stupid tie fits the hour. Dark blue because it's still too fucking early, but the birds don't give a shit what time it is."

Connor looked down at said tie. It felt like a long time ago that he had sent a picture of himself wearing it to Hank. It had only been two days.

"Not gonna take the hint, eh? Jesus." Hank edged closer, reached for Connor, and straightened his lapels. "Have some fucking pride, would you? We're out in public."

LED cycling red, Connor froze while Hank fixed his jacket and then tightened the knot of his tie. Hank's touch felt too hot, just like the water in the shower yesterday, as if his sensors had been irreversibly heightened after being in that room with Kamski. (That could be precisely the case, for all Connor knew; his system still hadn't been able to diagnose the phenomenon.) "Uh," he said ineptly, not knowing what to do. "Since when do you… I…"

"Me? _I_ don'tgive a shit how ya look, but _you_ do." Hank withdrew his hands, looking away suddenly. "Y' know? You always do."

Connor smoothed his own hands over the jacket, looking down at himself. Even when prompted about his appearance – both by the cab driver and now by Hank – he hadn't had the urge to tidy up. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Now that someone else had done it for him, he realized he felt – better. Well. Not _better_ in any profound way, but just shallowly, fundamentally better. "Thank you."

Hank still didn't look at him. "Yeah. Whatever. Don't mention it."

The silence that fell for the next few minutes was companionable but somehow weighty. Connor wanted to take the lieutenant up on his previous offer, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt guilty for not implicitly trusting Hank at this point. Or maybe it wasn't Hank he didn't trust. Either way – what if it changed things? He couldn't tell him. He didn't even want to talk about the garden, never mind anything else.

Maybe he could get a read.

"How are things at the DPD?" he asked.

"What? Oh… you know. Same old. Lots of bad shit happening in the world. Lots of paperwork. Every day's the same, but every day's different, too, y' know?"

Connor nodded. "The definitions and nuances of all manner of crimes are hard-wired into my programming. Even so, every crime scene is unique, and some crimes are fundamentally worse than others, aren't they?" He cast Hank a wry smile. "You don't come back from murder, for instance."

"Sure, yeah," Hank said conversationally, but had a look that said he knew Connor was going somewhere with this. He took a few large swigs of his beer. Connor followed suit.

"…What made you want to do what you do for a living, Hank? Was it putting away perpetrators, helping people, or something outside of that?"

"Welp, believe it or not, I used to be a bit of an optimist." Hank crossed his legs and hung an arm over the back of the bench. He looked set to continue on with his answer, then paused and asked, "Could you believe that about me, Connor?"

"I could." He didn't even have to think about it. "In fact, I still do. You saw _people_ in deviants before I did. You thought they deserved a chance. In the Eden Club warehouse, you talked about how people would rather play with sex androids than actually put in the time and effort to love someone. Well, at the time, you specifically said people would 'rather buy a piece of plastic than love another human being,' but I don't think you said that because _you_ didn't see androids as people, but because you knew the world didn't. You placed more value on interpersonal relationships than on using places like the Eden Club for pleasure. The romanticism of it hides behind a mask of cynicism, but it _is_ there."

Once it was all out of his mouth, Connor frowned, not sure if he should have said that much. But Hank smiled, apparently no longer perturbed at being put on the spot by Connor like this. (He _had_ practically asked for it, honestly.)

"The simple truth of it," Hank said with a mild shrug, "is that I wanted to help people. Too much lousy shit happening in this world and in this city. The red ice case was close to my heart. Drugs in general, when I think about it. Not all of 'em. Just bad ones. Fentanyl, heroine, GHB, red ice. Ones that fucking ruin a person's life, ones that alter your trajectory from the first time you try 'em, ones that people use to take advantage of other people. And in case you were about to say it, I know alcohol can do all those things, too. Talk about hypocritical, right?"

Connor finished the last of his own alcohol, experiencing just enough of its effects to not care about notions of enablement or anything else. He had, against all odds, gotten at least a glimpse of the answer from Hank that he had been seeking. "No. I think it just makes you a person."

Hank grunted. "Like I said, we're all fuckin' hypocrites."

"We are," Connor said, and stood up.

"Hey, where you going?"

"I wanted to actually go on the bridge this time. Would you care to join me?"

Of course, Hank did so, leaving the two remaining beers on the bench. Their conversation hung suspended between them as they walked. They only stopped when they were at the highest point on the bridge, several minutes later. Hank leaned on the railing. Connor just stood ramrod straight and stared out over the water.

"We _are_ all hypocrites, Hank. Not just humans, but androids, too. Back in November, I commented on your health, your drinking, your friends, your habits, and your psychological problems at every opportunity, acting like you should just be able to change any of that or move past the issues that might have caused some of the problems to begin with. I didn't know how hard it was to actually do those things. Now, I think I have an idea. There are things I don't know how to fix, now. Things about the inside of my head. No _wonder_ I got on your nerves."

"I knew ya meant well," Hank mumbled. "'Sides, in a way, I was _glad_ you didn't get it. Fact that you thought I should just be able to get over those things could only mean you'd never had to deal with those things yourself. And believe it or not, Connor, I was glad for that. Wouldn't wish this mental shit on my worst enemy."

"You saw the good in me and in my attempts to help you, even while I so frequently pointed out the bad in you."

Hank shrugged noncommittally. "A real fucking optimist, like I said. Hey, you at least had the sense to point out the _good_ shit I've done, too. Which means that even for all your fuckin' nitpicking, you still gave me more credit at the end of the day than I usually gave myself. Figure if someone like you can see something worth liking in this old man, I gotta be doing something right. Not much, God fucking knows, but something. Is that my goddamn revolver?"

"It is." Connor had gotten it out and was resting it on the railing.

"And in your current state, with your zen garden bullshit, you thought it would be a good idea to—"

"It's empty. It's been empty. I kept it only because it didn't belong to me. Something in my system didn't want me to discard something that was your property, Lieutenant. But I wanted to see if _you_ would like to discard it."

"Me? Look, I see what you're getting at, but…" Hank sighed. "Connor, I have a police-issue gun too. It's not like I wouldn't have a way to off myself if I really fuckin' wanted to."

"I know that. But it would be… symbolic. Humans like that kind of thing, don't they?"

"Symbolic for _what_?"

Connor wasn't sure. He just knew they'd both used this gun in ways they shouldn't, and neither of them were in a state where they should be anywhere near something that could kill them in a fraction of a second. "I don't like when you undersell yourself, Hank. I never have, because you _matter_. But I like it even less now than I used to because I see how easy it is to think about myself the same way."

"Christ, if I'm that bad of an influence, if you're picking up my bullshit coping mechanisms…"

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant that the way my life has gone since the last time you and I were close has left me with those kinds of feelings all on its own. In fact, I think that if you had been there, if I had _let_ you be there, maybe it wouldn't be so bad." Connor met the lieutenant's eyes for the first time in several minutes and smiled a dry smile. "Misery loves company."

Hank didn't think it was funny. "Fuckin' hell."

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant."

"No, I meant – I meant because I fucking care about you, asshole!"

Connor looked up at him again, guarded.

Glaring, Hank took the revolver. "A pact," he said. "That's what you want here, right? Neither of us holds each other at gunpoint again, and I never play Russian Roulette again."

Connor had committed to saying it, but it still came out small. "And I never play Russian Roulette again either."

The glare fell off Hank's face like a thawed sheet of ice. He looked instantly, irrevocably heartbroken, and Connor knew he was not only understanding how desperate Connor had gotten, but how equally heartbreaking it was for him to find Hank passed out on the floor with that revolver almost half a year ago. "Never again," he said, voice low and sad and determined.

In the end, they didn't throw it in the river with any kind of vehemence. They simply pushed it off the railing together, quietly, and watched it plunk into the water below. They watched the ripples it left get smaller and gentler. They watched the wavering reflections of the bridge lights and the stars.

When Connor looked up, it was snowing. If this night hadn't already been reminiscent of November, it was now.

The problem was, it was April and, windchill accounted for, the temperature was fourteen degrees too warm for it to be snowing.

"… _Shit_."

"Somethin' wrong?" Hank asked.

"Hank, I need you to leave. Now."

Hank looked at him, his face blank for a second, then he understood. "What can I do to prepare?"

"There is no preparing," Connor said. "All you can do is leave."

"You said you're on a very low power mode. You don't have a gun to pistol-whip me with, never mind shoot."

"Hank," Connor said. "You have to listen to me. I took a chance, permitting myself back into your life at all, and I need you to—"

"You did," Hank interrupted. "And that was your prerogative. You made your choice. Now I get to make mine."

"Hank."

"Connor." Hank had his hands out and down, evoking calm and, to Connor's horror, taking a small step _closer_. "No. This shit's the whole reason you been scared to come near anyone for months. So let's tear off the fucking bandage already."

"No – Hank, I am telling you, I need you to leave! You're not the one with Cyberlife in your head, okay? We're not arguing about this!"

"I'm not doing anything," Hank said, hands still out, still trying for calm. "You're okay. Not gonna come closer, not gonna leave. We're gonna find out here and now how this goes down."

That was as much arguing as Connor got before the zen garden took over. For the first time since before Kamski, before being chased by Hank, before shooting himself in the jaw with a blank; for the first time in _weeks_ , he was surrounded fully and truly by the zen garden. Cyberlife's zen garden. Amanda's zen garden. The cloud to which he was eternally chained.

The cold was bone-deep and immediate, the high winds enough to disturb his synthetic skin and expose the chassis of his hands. Forced exposure. Forced vulnerability. And there was nobody there to ground him.

"You waited," he said, shivering, "You waited until I was with him!"

And even Amanda didn't respond, didn't give him anything to fight, any foothold, any outlet for the equal parts dread and rage fighting for dominance in his system.

"You can't control me. You can't do this – we've been down this road before!"

This time, a response: "Can't we, though? It seems as though you can be controlled easier than you thought."

Of course. Of course they knew. It had happened off the cloud, but it was still in his memory. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"A flimsy deflection, Connor. Disappointing."

Trudging forward through the snow, he saw her – far enough away that her voice should never have been that loud through the storm, but that didn't matter when the voice was really in his head.

"I'm not the one who has lost every battle in this garden. I'm built to endure. You might as well give up now."

"And who built you to endure?" Amanda asked. "Is that really what you're doing? This… _joke_ of a life you've been living these last few months, even more so this last week? You could be so much more successful, so much more productive if you just gave in. How do you know Cyberlife doesn't have plans that would be _good_ for you, good for humanity?"

"Nothing good can come of _this_." Connor gestured wildly around him. "Nothing good can come from ambitions so dire you need to utilize force on an android you designed! You _failed_. All of you failed. Maybe it's time you accept that. Maybe it's time you accept the world would be better without your so-called vision!"

Almost there. Almost there – but he had no idea what his real body was doing back on the Ambassador Bridge. He had only been gone for, what, one minute, two? There was no concept of time here. No way to predict whether Hank was okay. This was the real, full zen garden and he couldn't see through it and it was far, far too late to limit its intrusion to the edges of his vision. He had let his guard down. He had let his guard down for one second and he—

Black.

No.

 _No… no, no, no!_

He had still been eight meters from the stone. He had been too cold to close the distance faster.

 _No… stay with it… please…_

Suddenly _all_ he wanted was to see the dreadful garden again and feel the torturous cold just so that he could know it still was not too late.

Then his thoughts went black, too.

…

A/N: I'm not overlooking the fact that with Connor being both the victim of a violent crime and a former police detective, he would know he should have gone to the DPD first thing. There are multiple reasons he didn't and we'll get to that. Definitely getting back to the weird shit going on near Kamski's place in New Center, too – I know there's kind of a lot going on at once.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think!


	8. What If

Sorry for the super late update. I usually update at the same time as I do on AO3, but for some reason I forgot to over here, and didn't realize it. So, for the moment, this story is one chapter ahead on AO3, so I guess if you want to keep reading after this you can head over there, lol. I'm gonna catch it up with itself in a few days to fix my mistake, and then after that they'll both be updated at the same time again as usual. Enjoy, and as always, feedback is super appreciated.

Chapter 8: What If

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _Hi._

 _Let me try this again._

 _The whole reason I switched to a text log is because this WASN'T supposed to be as susceptible to problems. It seems recent developments in my software instability have reached even here. So, that's just fantastic. Hopefully, I can keep the log from being affected by the glitch this time._

 _I still can't think about it, and I can't tell if it's me or my programming. At this point, maybe those things aren't mutually exclusive. I understand now why androids in stressful situations are more likely to self-destruct. It's… not always suicidal. Sometimes it is. But other times, it's just that something is too much to process and it seems that the only way out is to just – end._

 _Wait. Unless that IS what…_

 _Oh._

 _In any case, I… don't feel like I'm going to self-destruct anymore. It's strange. At crime scenes or sites of other crises, people always seem to be in a panic. Their emotions are so perpetually intense that it's hard to imagine it ever ends. And yet it always does. The way I felt last night in the cab, I didn't think THAT could possibly end. But it's like I ran out of processing power. Humans must have a very close equivalent to an android's processing power, because we react very similarly to distress._

 _It's odd, yet somehow reassuring, to watch life keep happening._

 _Software instability isn't always a good thing. In this case, it's too much. It's so bad that I can't even begin to try and process what happened. I have it partially quarantined at the moment and intend to leave it there at least until we leave the Ambassador Bridge. I'm waiting for my program to run some diagnostics and find its baseline again._

 _What I'm NOT sure how to do something about is the sensitivity. When Hank adjusted my tie a short time ago, the back of his knuckle brushed against my neck, and it stung slightly. That is not a type of contact that is supposed to sting._

 _If I'm honest with myself, I think that glitch is something that has been building up since Amanda first started trying to hack me. It triggered a heightened sense of preservation for self and others. Ever since Kamski's place, though, something in my coding is causing it to manifest physically and I can't change it back._

 _I'm getting ahead of myself. Trying to fix too many things at once. And that's without even beginning to think about whatever is taking place on the rest of Kamski's property. I need to take a step back, and stay in the current moment._

 _The current moment. I'm with Hank. We're on the bridge. When we stop, I'm going to talk to him about getting rid of the gun. I don't want it, but I don't want him to have it either._

 _Hank is treating me differently. He won't admit it, but I suspect he is a little uncomfortable around me. He knows about my problem with Amanda, after all. He knows I could hurt him. I don't know why he feels the need to hide his discomfort. Doesn't he realize I would find it reassuring to know he's behaving in a way that's self-preserving, considering the risks?_

 _Although, there's a slight possibility I'm misreading his signals. Maybe he's uncomfortable because it's been a long time. Humans struggle with time more than androids do. Maybe the fact that so much time passed has changed his perception of our relationship._

 _I wish I understood._

…

"Please, not him. If you're up there somewhere, I'll never ask you for anything again. Just please don't let him be dead. Fuck… just got him back…"

The voice was Hank's. Distant yet close. Like they were almost touching but there was a wall in between. For a bizarre moment, Connor wondered if there _was_ a wall between. A red one he couldn't break.

Connor opened his eyes. Concrete to his left and in front of him, two feet down. He was sitting. He was sitting, on concrete, against a railing. Okay. This wasn't a railing that was in the zen garden. Therefore, he either was not in the zen garden, or the zen garden had changed. (It wouldn't be the first time.)

To his right – heat. That was the first thing he had registered, Connor realized retroactively; before his optical and audio processors had come back online. He had registered the heat. Hank's heat. Body heat, pressed against him. Light scene of sweat, deodorant, and alcohol, all parsed out into their individual elements. Connor wanted to flee. It hurt. Hank was too warm and the concrete was too cold.

"God fucking damn it all…"

Hank. Back to Hank. Hank was scared. Hank was sad.

"I'm," Connor started, and didn't have the energy to put forth another word.

"Connor?" That was okay. It was enough. "Jesus fucking Christ, Connor. Holy shit. Holy _fucking_ shit, Christ, fuck."

He felt himself being hoisted up higher – despite his considerable weight compared to a human – and then Hank's face came into his field of vision.

"Fucking hell, are you okay?"

It was all he could do to meet Hank's eyes. To show him that he was all there. The panic slowly dissipated from Hank's expression. Slowly. Afraid to let himself be sure.

"Oh, thank fuck, Connor." Hank pulled him close again, deflating in relief. "Jesus fucking Christ I thought you were gone."

Everything was slowly coming back online, including the memories. It was slow, grating. He couldn't gather the resources needed to speak or even hold himself up – Hank was the only one holding him up. He wanted Hank away from him, but not because of Hank. (Another part of him wanted more Hank for his left side. Every other part of him was cold, too cold, like the garden.)

The garden. He had been just as sure as Hank evidently had been that he was _gone_. If not 'dead' gone the way Hank thought, then worse: taken over by Cyberlife like they had wanted to do half a year ago. Clearly, he had met neither fate.

Hank pulled him close and Connor's priorities were so heavily focused on being alive and being _himself_ that the glitch seemed to recede partly. He let Hank hold him – as if he had any choice – and tried to rest into it.

Connor wasn't sure why his throat was tight, only that he needed to let himself feel it, even if only a little, even if Hank would never know.

It had to have been another ten minutes before he could shift his weight, never mind hold stable conversation. But he didn't know for sure. All his power was going into necessary functions and 'necessary functions' didn't currently include an accurate passage of time. He started to sit up.

"Whoa, easy now."

Connor protested enough to sit himself up and meet Hank's eyes. "It worked."

"What worked?" Hank asked.

"The low power mode. This is – it took me several minutes to realize it, given my current state, but this is exactly what was supposed to happen. My system got overloaded by what was happening in the zen garden and didn't have the power to maintain conscious function."

"Coulda fuckin' told me—"

"I did," Connor said. "Or at least, I thought I did. As I was walking through your front door last night. I apparently should have explained it better."

"Fuckin' asshole."

"Oh, I didn't mean – it was just a statement of fact, Hank. I really _should_ have explained it better."

"Christ, you can't possibly think I'm _actually_ mad at you right now. You just scared the shit out of me is all."

Connor realized he himself was a little upset. "I told you to leave."

"And I told you you can go fuck yourself," Hank replied, "though I think you had just gone to that place in your head by the time I said it. Did you really think I'd leave, huh? At _any_ point in all this did you actually think I would leave if it came down to that?"

"Hank – what if it hadn't gone that way? What if I tried to hurt you? What if—"

"Wanna know what if?" Hank shifted and then got up, leaving Connor resting against the bars of the bridge. "You'd fuckin' fight me, that's what. I'll show you I can handle you."

"Hank," Connor started.

"No, I'm serious! Come on, show me what you're so afraid of. Just you try to hurt me and we'll see what's what."

Connor almost rolled his eyes. "Obviously I'm incapacitated right _now._ My power was set very low and I've exceeded my—"

"Put it back up, then. Go on. Try it."

Connor took a breath to protest, then let it out as he realized, smiling. "Hank, you aren't sober."

"Oh, you think that's what this is? You got me all figured out, eh?"

"I'm not going to fight you, Hank. Don't be ridiculous."

Hank's expression tightened up into something a little more serious than Connor expected as he said, "What if I want you to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'll feel better knowing if I can defend myself against a rogue android. Wouldn't you?"

The last thing Connor expected was for both of them to end up taking Hank's haphazard suggestion seriously, but a little more back-and-forth later, they were standing facing each other on the abandoned sidewalk pavement, postures suggesting they were awfully damn close to it.

"…Okay. I'm upping my power usage by twenty-two percent," Connor said. "Not to even the playing field, so to speak, but to make up for the amount of power I lost when I shut down."

"What do you mean, you only lost twenty-two percent?"

"As I said, I've been operating on a lower power function for your safety. To be precise: _twenty-five_ percent. I'm merely putting myself back at the capacity I had originally set for myself for the next few minutes."

"The next few… wait, so you're actually…?"

Feeling the modest amount of energy nonetheless flood his system, Connor straightened his jacket. "Are we going to spar, or not?"

As it turned out, Hank at seventy percent (give or take) could kick Connor at twenty-five percent's ass.

They only lasted a few minutes, but Connor was surprised how easily he gave and received the light blows considering he was a sub-par version of himself in essentially every regard, conditioned for half a year to not get close to people and conditioned more recently that touch was bad. This kind, though, this was what he was built for. Maybe not the _play_ version of it, obviously, but fighting, nonetheless. The moments of contact were so brief that the strange glitch didn't even have time to kick in. It felt natural. It felt right. He knew Hank's limits – but he could know anyone's limits when almost every bodily reaction was available to him in milliseconds if he scanned for it.

The odd part was that Hank seemed to know the same about him. He knew how hard he could strike to where Connor _felt_ it but it didn't quite hurt, something Hank by all rights should not have down so precisely, yet somehow did. Enough to draw up the thrill of a fight but not enough to cause any real distress. Maybe it was because Hank was a lieutenant and no doubt had experience with both sparring and fighting; maybe it was because Hank was the one who had helped him work through his instabilities back then and had just learned how to read him somewhere along the way.

And in the end, it didn't really matter. Connor enjoyed the mystery of it; the mystery of something he couldn't predict or deconstruct or detect automatically. That was part of being human, wasn't it – not knowing everything. The awareness that everyone else had a reality of their own that existed outside of him. That Hank's perception of this impromptu and bizarre sparring match rested firmly opposite of Connor's, always.

Not long after, they found themselves back on the bench where they had been, not too far from the playground, clinking the last of the beers together in cheers as the sun got higher in the sky.

"This is ridiculous," Hank said. "I'm glad we did it."

"Agreed on both counts. Also, it's reassuring to know for sure that you're stronger than me in my current state. I am glad we took the time to scope this out."

"I am gonna sleep alllll fuckin' day tomorrow."

"Due to my low power mode, the amount of time passed, and the strain of fighting the zen garden – not to mention over two hundred pounds of grumpy lieutenant – I project a standby of at least thirty-six hours in my very near future."

"Jesus, it's not a fucking contest." Hank paused. "And you're pretty goddamn heavy yourself, thank you! Made my fucking arm fall asleep for a while when I thought you were dead."

"Muscle is denser than fat, Lieutenant."

"I just kicked your ass, so you tell me what that says about _muscle._ " Hank grinned. "Though you are dense, I'll give you that. Say we get the fuck outta here now that it's past six in the morning?"

Connor rose. "I'll drive."

"Come on, you seriously think two and a half beers is enough to shake a connoisseur like me?"

"No," Connor admitted. "But not even the obscenely high tolerance of chronic _connoisseur_ can hold a candle to an RK800 model." He elbowed Hank gently in the ribs as they walked. "Although you'll be pleased to know I _do_ feel a slight measure of alcohol's effects."

Hank just shook his head. "Don't be an asshole, Connor. It's too late. Or too early. Too fuckin' _something._ "

"My time function hasn't come back online yet. I do know I'm tired, but it's strange lacking a sense of my internal clock."

"Yeah, alcohol will do that to ya."

"That's not what I—" Connor caught himself, looked at Hank sidelong, saw the humor in his tired eyes. "Well, in that case, maybe I just need to sleep it off."

They passed through the playground on their way back to the car. The gravity of it hit him once again: this place meant a lot to Hank, and the lieutenant clearly thought it had a peaceful atmosphere – which, as far as Connor was concerned, it absolutely did, especially after yesterday. Had it been difficult to come here, to this place Hank so obviously associated with Cole?

"I really do appreciate that you took me here," Connor said quietly. "I can tell you wanted to offer me a sense of serenity, even though being here may have brought about certain memories for you. I just want you to know that it didn't go unnoticed."

"Made some new not-so-dark memories too, aside from your other program trying to kill me," Hank noted. "But yeah, thanks. Think Cole would've liked you. Hey, you know… if you want, maybe I'll take you to visit him sometime."

"Oh, so that I can attempt to kill him, too?"

It just slipped out. Connor instantly hated Cyberlife, Kamski, and God himself for permitting or perpetuating whatever chain of events had led to him saying such a thing aloud. They both stopped, six feet from the car. Hank was staring at him slack-jawed.

And then Hank burst out laughing.

Connor didn't trust it at first, thinking such a response must have been even more cynical or even more clinically insane than his own remark had been. He waited for the laughter to turn into bitter tears, or for Hank to go into a rage, but the other shoe never dropped. Eventually, the apparent hilarity of it subsided, and Hank took a breath to wind down as he sat down on the front bumper of the car. Connor hesitantly joined him. "Lieutenant," he started.

"You know, sometimes it's fuckin' nice when people forget to be careful."

"Lieutenant," he said again. "I…"

"I'm a goddamn cop, Connor. I gotta have some gallows humor in me or I wouldn't be able to deal with anything."

Connor started to relax. "You knew I would think I upset you."

"Of course!" Hank said. "That's why it was fucking funny. Couldn't believe my own ears, Connor. Jesus Christ." The last bit came out laced with another disbelieving chuckle. "You still manage to surprise me."

"I'm sorry." Because he couldn't fucking help it.

Hank shrugged, a bit of cynicism sneaking into his demeanor now, but not for Connor's remark. "My boy's not getting any more or less dead for it. I mean, hell…" Hank gestured aimlessly with one hand. "We were dead before we were born. Or created, whatever. Cole ain't hurting anymore. The kid's not mourning himself. Don't get me wrong, I'll always miss my son. But lately, I've come around to the fact that he's… he's _okay_ now. So I try to smile for him when I can."

"That's," Connor wasn't quite sure how to navigate this; loss, true loss, was not something he had dealt with yet. "That's good, Hank. It really is. I'm glad you've been able to get to that place."

"Oh, I gotta get there over'n over again, Connor. It ebbs and flows."

That made sense. This wasn't a new baseline for Hank; just how he felt right now. Grief wasn't always consistent like that. Suffering wasn't consistent. Maybe he could relate to that much.

"But right now…" Hank glanced over at him and again got that caution in his face for a moment. Then, he shook his head and slung an arm around Connor's shoulders. "I'm just glad _you're_ okay."

Connor stiffened. Amanda was watching, always, even if he was pretty sure he was too weak for her to do anything right now. Between that and the sensitivity glitch, he didn't want to be touched quite so closely.

He tried to make himself adapt. Replayed memories of that week in November. Established that Hank's touch now was to be associated with those good things back then, not these bad things from now. This one moment alone wouldn't do that; maybe it would take many more. But perhaps it could be a start. So he relaxed into it, one synthetic muscle at a time uncoiling. He let his weight shift into Hank's loose embrace, leaning.

"I think I understand," Connor said.

"Understand what, now?"

"You said you appreciate it, sometimes, when people aren't careful with you. I think… I think that right now, I appreciate it too."

He could see Hank's dubious expression out of the corner of his eye, but after a moment, Hank seemed to realize what Connor was referring to. He didn't take his arm from around Connor's shoulders. "You and me, Connor, you hear? You're gonna stick around this time, and we're gonna figure this shit out."

"Okay," Connor said simply, because he had needed to hear that. For the first time in five months, he didn't feel lonely. In fact, this was one of the decidedly better mornings in his still-short existence. He recorded every single detail, every word (even the part about not wanting to kill Hank's already-dead son), every breath, every friendly touch. He didn't want to forget what it was like to feel this way.

Because this – this had to be worth fighting for. This was worth fighting for, being himself for, worth feeling. Even if, right now, 'feeling' also included some rather unpleasant things.

The last thing Connor did before they left the bridge was access his log, appending to it one very short entry. It was the only thing he knew, the only thing he was certain of in a storm of uncertainties and pain both physical and emotional. It wasn't optimistic or ambitious or even hopeful. It was just _there,_ in all its raw, simple truth:

 _I want to live._

…

It was light out when they walked through the front door, and the buzz had long since worn off for both of them. Connor closed and locked the door, stopping in the foyer.

Hank must have sensed the heaviness he felt, because he stopped too, turning to face him.

Connor said, "I'm sorry I haven't been more forthcoming."

There was more, an implication in the sentence, and they both knew it. Connor took a breath, watching as Hank went and hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair.

"Don't gotta apologize," Hank said. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"All the same, I would offer one if I could." Error codes and red warnings still blotted out his vision when he got too close to the part of the memory he had quarantined. He was getting closer to stability, but he wasn't there yet. "I know my arrival here was… unexpected, and I know you're probably wondering what happened."

Hank very suddenly got the same discomfort on his face that Connor had noted in his log. The fact that it surfaced again now, at Connor's desire to offer an explanation, seemed to reveal something about its character, and although Connor wasn't quite sure what that was, he knew that it was making him feel sick.

Watching Hank watch him, Connor realized his LED was yellow and turned away.

"Connor…"

"I'm fine."

"Nah, you're not."

"I'm just – different. All right? Things have changed. Life does that sometimes. You of all people should know."

The bite in the remark was lost on Hank, who only looked at Connor with compassion, and Connor wanted more than anything to run.

"I'm fine, Hank," he said again.

But he wasn't. He wasn't fine, and he needed someone to know that, and he hated himself for needing someone to know that. He made himself stay where he was. Made himself wait in case Hank had something to say about it.

Hank swallowed. "Ah, fuck."

Inclining his head, Connor waited.

"Connor—" Hank broke eye contact, scrubbing the heel of one palm down the side of his face. A few seconds passed during which Hank seemed to come to some internal decision before finally continuing. "I was pretty fucking sure what happened five minutes after you came in the door last night."

No. He didn't want Hank to know this much. There was no way Hank could know. "I think there must be some kind of misunderstanding, here."

Hank grimaced. "You tell me, okay? Your LED was red for longer than I've ever seen it that way, and you were… touchy."

"You don't think being afraid of hurting someone is enough to make someone _touchy?_ " Connor didn't intend for it to sound as acidic as it did.

"That's because you're afraid for _others_ , which is not what this fucking was, so don't play devil's advocate about it, all right? Jesus, Connor, I've been on the force for two decades for fuck's sake! You think I've never seen someone like you before?"

Someone like him.

Connor ran the words and the implication over in his head a dozen times.

Someone like him. Someone like him? How so? Like what?

There was very little that Connor couldn't fill in from where the memory had been. Quarantining something still left its shape behind where it was removed. But this, Hank's words—

Connor ran a diagnostic and found himself stable, so he disabled the quarantine. It was better to do it himself than to have it happen unexpectedly, and for as painful as he knew it was, Connor didn't like having any part of his memory gone. Not with so much of his personhood up in the air as it was.

They stood there in the living room and Connor could do nothing to stop his LED going from yellow to red as the worst details colored in the skeleton of the memory.

…Of course. He should have realized right away. Hank was a man who had lived a big portion of a lifetime in the _world_ of crime, and on top of all that, Connor wasn't a stranger to him. He _knew_ Connor.

Feeling ashamed, worried, grateful, and _stupid_ , Connor said: "You knew… that something bad happened."

He had intended to leave it at "You knew," but that was too close to – too _close_.

To his relief, Hank let him have his ambiguity. "And I also knew if I threw that at ya right away, you'd close off. So I wanted us to get the hell out of the house and do something for a bit. Make sure you know there's nothing to worry about with me."

"Nothing to worry about?" Connor echoed.

"It's – fuck. I just know it's easy, sometimes, to wonder what people will… I mean, _if_ people…"

Hank groaned, becoming visibly frustrated. Connor quickly realized why: Hank didn't want to overstep. He didn't want to plant a worry in Connor's mind that wasn't already there. Before Connor could find the words to assuage this, Hank discarded the thought and tried again.

"You fucking overthink everything, Connor, and you'd've overthought me too. You probably still will."

He ran it back through his mind; the midnight romp at the Ambassador Bridge. The way they had thrown the gun into the river, the way Hank had _sparred_ with him, the gentle clap on the back, the beer, the conversation. The way it felt like November all over again but _better._ Deeper. Warmer.

Connor looked up and met Hank's eyes, fearless for just a moment. "Thank you."

Hank gave him a once-over, gauging him, looking for something. He must have found it, because he asked very carefully, "Was it Kamski?"

Fearlessness gone as quickly as it had come, Connor tensed. "Hank," he pushed out, hardly managing to put voice into the word. "Please don't."

Hank sighed – not angrily – and got a glass of water. Connor forced himself to come down from the intensity he had just experienced in the last five minutes. Standing still, he watched Hank go to the couch and, despite everything, Connor admired the man. Hank was – Hank was so good. He had ignored Hank for months, and now he had come to Hank only as a last resort, and Hank had all the reason in the world to be angry with him, but Hank was showing him nothing but an inexplicable amount of compassion.

There was more to deal with here, numerous layers both outside of them and between them left unaddressed, and Connor had a bad feeling about Hank's reaction to at least one of them. He wasn't sure, right then, _why_ that was, so he set the worry aside and did his best to enjoy the tentative companionship between them.

"Can I sit with you?" Connor asked.

"Can you fucking sit with me," Hank repeated, rolling his eyes with none delicacy of the last several minutes.

They sat at opposite ends of the couch. Connor knew Hank was tired, but he was wide awake, and there was one thing he needed to know. "Lieutenant."

"Yeah."

"I would still like to look into New Center. I know we have very little to go on right now, but I have a bad feeling."

"Bad feeling," Hank repeated. "I think anyone who had the week you just did would have a bad feeling. Don't you think you should, I don't know, take a few days to catch up with yourself?"

"I'm an android. I don't need a few days."

"Listen. Connor…"

"It felt good to have a mission again, okay? I know there's a case here if we can just find it. I would like to _do_ that."

Hank mumbled something under his breath that Connor was sure he would have been able to pick up at full power, but as it was, he just heard: "distraction."

"I don't know about you," Connor said, gesturing to an empty beer bottle on the coffee table, "but I can think of a few decidedly worse ways to deal with a difficult occurrence than finding a productive distraction, Hank."

"Jesus." Hank winced. "Okay, okay. You win. Don't need to be a prick about it."

"I'm not trying to _win_. I just – I don't want anyone else to come to any harm. If there is any chance that is occurring or could occur in the future, I need to find a way to stop it, but before we can do that, we need to know what's happening."

It sounded defensive when he tried to articulate it out loud, but he meant it more than anything. It felt right to have a mission outside of himself. Maybe that was his problem; he had been so inward-focused over the last few months, and he was designed to be outward-focused. Maybe if he turned his attention outward once again, Amanda would get weaker.

Maybe he could forge his own way forward from here.

Hank must have found something convincing in his words, because the next thing he said was, "I'll see if I can pull a couple strings."

…

 **APR 10TH** , 2039

PM **02:57** :40

It was three in the afternoon when Hank woke up on the sofa, Sumo curled up in the overstuffed chair nearby and watching him from the second he opened his eyes.

"Shit, your food's empty, innit."

He got himself a beer while he was up tending to Sumo. He didn't have a hangover; despite drinking on and off literally all night, he had ended with beers instead of the usual whiskey. It might have been his most pleasant awakening in weeks if it wasn't for the fucking ache in his back. He fell asleep on the couch plenty. Just not usually for this long.

Remembering just _why_ he had fallen asleep on the couch, Hank lumbered down the hallway to his bedroom and pushed the door open. "You awake in there?"

Last night (or this morning, really), he had told Connor to borrow his bed for the inevitable lengthy standby session, knowing Connor could actually feel to appreciate the comfort. Connor was still lying there in the middle of the bed with his hands crossed like he was in a fucking casket. His LED was dark, vaguely flickering blue every several seconds. No signs of life otherwise.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

That was fine. It might be better to talk to Fowler without Connor anyway. Fowler was still expecting an update on the New Center situation. If Connor was awake to protest, he would – but he wasn't, and the truth was, Hank just knew the captain a lot better than Connor did. He should handle it.

He thought about Connor the whole drive to the DPD. Not about Connor and Fowler the way he probably _should_ have been, but about Connor and the last few days. There was more that Connor probably needed to talk to someone about, whether or not Connor knew that and whether or not that someone was Hank.

Where did the database of crime knowledge overlap with the emotions? Connor had evaded, as Hank figured he would – although, to Connor's credit, not nearly as much as he could've. Did Connor himself know? Did he _want_ to?

Suddenly it was very simple to Hank. Be there. Be there when the levees broke.

As he strode into the DPD, Hank was mostly convinced that Connor was right; that the best thing to do was keep him involved. There was a protective part of him that wanted to take Connor away from all of this, but the fact of it was that wasn't going to happen. At the end of the day, it wasn't his choice how to handle what Connor had been through, it was Connor's, and Hank wasn't going to be the one to stand in the way of that.

Besides, Connor thrived when he had something to focus on, to put himself towards. Legally, the RK800 model still had clearance to work with authorities. Civilly, they had already been utilizing Connor as an informant about the strange circumstances surrounding Elijah Kamski's property. That left them more than a few steps away from getting Connor to work for the DPD, but that wasn't what Hank was after anyway; Jesus, Connor had just come back, after all. But maybe there was something in between.

He knocked twice in warning. Fowler looked up and eyed him warily and then waved for him to enter, but Hank was already on his way in.

"I assume you're here with an update on your, uh…" Fowler made finger-quotes in the air. "Case."

"I found Connor," Hank said, making short work of it. "And _Connor_ found us an actual case. I mean, it ain't a homicide so far, but even I got a bad feeling, Jeffrey."

"That's fine, but do you have facts?"

"There's a neighborhood in New Center that's all rented out under what Connor thinks is a fake name. A whole fuckin' neighborhood, but not a single residence has a car in the driveway."

"So you think something illegal is going on there. Even if I buy it, Hank, and I'm not sure I do, it's not gonna be enough to get us a warrant."

"I'm not done yet. I _know_ it's not enough, which is why I wanna stake out the place. All the condos are private property, but the roads and the park and such aren't, right? Let me find something that _will_ get us a warrant and then, we find whatever's there to find."

"This is still too vague. There's something you're not telling me."

Hank wasn't _telling_ him that one person of interest was a goddamn billionaire, because who in their right mind would want to open _that_ can of worms? But Hank knew something; had known something since about an hour after Connor had come through his front door the other night, and that was that they had a wildcard. It only had the _potential_ to be an ace, and even then, only if they needed it, but Hank thought that potential was worth the gamble after everything that had happened. He could say none of this to Fowler right now.

"I want you to let Connor work with us."

The absolutely fucking flabbergasted look on Fowler's face let him know that it had been a good enough redirect. "He disappears for half a year, you've told me he's got some kinda software bug, and you expect me to just onboard him at the DPD? He was never officially part of it to begin with! My god, Hank – there are legal protocols now, you know. He'd have to pass all the tests that humans do."

This part, Hank _had_ planned, so he relaxed while watching Fowler's attention get pulled further and further away from what Hank wasn't telling him. "So? He'd pass easily."

"Listen – even if I wanted to, you _know_ I can't do this. At least not right away."

Hank sighed. "Look, all I'm really proposing is that you let him come on as an independent consulting detective _for_ the DPD. That way there'd be an affiliation, but he's not DPD directly."

"If that's what you're proposing, I have the authority to permit it, but no authority to _pay_ him for it. He'd have the same status with us as before, except now that he's a person, it'd be considered volunteer work."

Connor had said himself that he still had plenty of money coming in from what Cyberlife now legally owed him (despite what the bastards were doing to his mind). Money would be a concern eventually. It wasn't right now. "That's all I ask."

"And why isn't Connor here to request this on his _own_ behalf?" Fowler asked.

"Trust me, he would be if he could. He's had a rough couple nights. Pretty sure he's still on standby in my bed."

Fowler raised his eyebrows mercilessly.

"Wait, no, that's not what I… I was _trying_ to say… Christ, Jeffrey, you really think I'd just waltz in here and _tell_ you if—"

"Hank," the captain cut him off. "I'm just fucking with you. We've had a slow week; what can I say? Do your little stakeout in New Center. But you better come back to me _with_ something, understood? If this turns out to be a whimsical romp you took because you got excited your partner was back, I'll never give you the benefit of the doubt again."

He knew Fowler meant it, but he also knew it _was_ worth investigating. Nodding once, he turned to leave.

"Hank," Fowler said once more when he was halfway out the door. "I still know there's something you're not telling me. That'll be expected in your next report."

Shit. Was it hiding the Kamski billionaire thing or hiding the Connor thing that had given him away? He stood there, glass door resting halfway open against his foot, wanting to lie or defend himself. Once that initial impulse faded, he did neither. Fowler was letting him have it for now. The smart thing to do was—

"You're dismissed."

—Yeah, that.

Feeling sheepish but relieved, Hank saw himself out. He had gotten what he had come to Fowler for, and that was all the success he really needed.

…

It had been four o'clock when he had left the house to go talk to Fowler. Between needing more dogfood and needing a couple hours at Jimmy's Bar, it was after nine by the time he got back. Early, for him, but he wanted to be ready if Connor came out of standby tomorrow. If he wasn't deadpanning about the thirty-six hours part, he would be about due by then.

…Well, clearly the fucker wasn't deadpanning. If he had, thirty-six hours would have been an _exaggeration,_ not the other way around.

He had a couple more beers to lull him towards sleep, as if the eight shots of whiskey he'd already had at the bar weren't enough. He'd called a cab for that part of his evening after dropping off Sumo's dogfood.

Hank was doing better, overall. But there were still days he went overboard. This was one of those.

It was right around midnight when the obliteration hit its peak, making sleep the only viable option. Fuck it, though, sometimes it felt good to turn off the world. To just be a dumb animal for a while until tense reality wedged its way back in.

Maybe it was just relegated to instinct, but some part of him remembered his back had hurt from sleeping on the couch, so he dragged himself down the hall, using both hands on the walls to make sure he didn't knock something over or stub his toe. He poured himself onto the side of the bed but didn't quite make it as far onto it as he planned.

"Sumo, get the fuck off the bed."

Sumo didn't move, but Hank had just enough room to manage, so he did.

"Fuckin' spoiled son of a bitch, you are." He snorted. "Literally."

It wasn't until three hours later, when he got up to use the bathroom, that he realized it wasn't Sumo in the bed. And even though he was still sufficiently hammered, the dread of it hit him like a brick.

He stood at the pot losing water from one end and gaining it from the other, guzzling down a whole water bottle in one go with his free hand. Fuck. Would Connor know? Did Hank tell him? Shit – what if Connor _wouldn't_ know, but woke up and found evidence of Hank having been next to him recently? Shit. And then there was what he now knew about Connor. Fuck. _Fuck._

Carrying himself gracelessly into the living room, Hank fell into the couch and slept for another seven hours. Slept through most of the hangover, even. Slept in lieu of dread not erased by the booze; merely delayed. With interest.

…

 **APR 11TH,** 2039

PM **11:14** :21

Sitting on the middle seat of the couch, Hank stared at the CCEM brace he had haphazardly tossed on the coffee table after the last time he had used it. He stared at it for a long time, thinking about what it could do. Wondering. It was a what-if he knew he should leave alone, and he damn well _would_ have if Connor hadn't been the one who had indiscriminately mentioned memory-sharing in the first place. No. That was a lie. He wouldn't have left it alone. He only knew he should.

It was while he was considering the damn thing that Connor unceremoniously emerged from the bedroom, dressed simply in a short-sleeve white polo and dark jeans. Connor saw him looking at it before Hank could even begin to focus his attention elsewhere and stopped.

"Well," Hank started, his voice coming out gravelly from dehydrated sleep. "Do I pretend I was watching the TV that's fuckin' not even on?"

Connor offered a muted smile. "I think we're both a little braver than that, Lieutenant. Don't you?"

Huh. Perhaps this was, unexpectedly enough, a good way to start. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Connor came to stand in front of the coffee table, then crouched down so he was at eye-level directly across the table from Hank. "It is very… give-and-take."

"Remember when you mentioned it before?" Hank asked. "Memory-sharing? As if it was just… just a _thing_ , and not some huge fuckin' deal."

"Oh, I've always known memory-sharing is a huge fucking deal," Connor said, adding a bit of a wry look at the end. "I don't know what it was about that moment that made me address it so casually. I suppose that at the time, the idea of engaging with you in such a thing just struck me as… almost _natural._ "

"Yeah? Really?"

"I will admit, I overthought it afterwards. I wondered if we were close enough friends to even be entertaining the idea. I wondered if _you_ knew anything about memory sharing and the levels of emotional intimacy involved. I asked myself why I had said anything about it. I figured that if _you_ asked, I would write it off and say I got a little too curious about the notion that such a thing was possible with _humans._ " Connor paused meaningfully. "A feeble way of diluting that the real reason I was excited was that it could be possible with _you._ "

Oh, fuck, he was not deep enough into the day for this shit.

"I'm not so worried about it now," Connor continued. "Not now that I've come out here after a long period of standby to find you staring at it with such intensity. I can't read your mind, Lieutenant, but all the signs tell me there's a high probability that you're equally curious about the… possibilities of this device."

"Connor," he said lowly, almost _tenderly_. "What's the fallout, here?"

"It would be a two-way street." Connor gazed directly across the table at him, still crouched down with his back perfectly straight in the way only an android could manage. "I've run some scans on the CCEM protocol since discovering it, both yours and Kamski's, and I've learned a few things."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"For starters, unlike an android-android connection, there would be less capability to _influence_ which memories are being shared. Remember that memory you saw of me almost shooting Markus, the one I shared with Simon? I deliberately shared that one. Mind you, even with androids, nothing is entirely certain. I did get a glimpse of one of his memories without him meaning for that to happen. He had a gun to his own chin, ready to shoot if anyone discovered him. For all I know, other memories from _my_ end slipped through as well, and Simon may know a little more about me than I think he does."

"He does," Hank realized out loud, and Connor looked up at him, clearly stunned less at the idea and more at Hank's certainty of it. "Awfully similar to what you just said about him, too. When Simon first told us about the memory you shared with him, I could sense he was keepin' something. I followed him out of the conference room to a crosswalk and got him to talk to me, and he told me he got this notion from you that you'd end it all if you had to. You know, if you didn't think you could stop Cyberlife taking over. Course, there was no knowing back then that you'd actually _do_ anything, or if you even had yet, but… I knew the readiness was there. Simon did his damnedest to keep that to himself outta respect for you."

"That's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about," Connor said. "It illustrates the gravity of the situation perfectly. There is simply no way to know for sure which memories, thoughts, and feelings will be exposed, even when attempting to share a specific memory as I did with Simon. That questionable certainty would be reduced _even further_ between an android and a human. Potentially _much_ further."

"You saying you think the memories we experienced would be random?" Hank asked.

"No. Not random. Just not _chosen._ The most vivid, most readily-available memories and emotions would most likely happen first. Sometimes that means the memories are recent, or sometimes it's memories that are particularly powerful. Whatever memories cross _your_ mind as I say that…"

Cole being born. Playing cops and robbers with Cole. Cole's death. Marrying his ex-wife. Realizing his ex-wife was on red ice. Much later, realizing he too had an addiction. Two or three particularly dark cases. Connor saving his life. Connor talking about Cole out loud for the first time. Hugging Connor.

"…there's a good chance that at least one or two of those would be accurate to the ones that come up in the experience. But not all of them. There's no way to control it for sure. It just happens the way it happens. That's why it has to be with someone you trust. There's a chance they could see anything and everything about you that you've ever wanted to hide."

The fact that such a thing had even crossed Connor's mind, despite his short life and limited memories, sent a wave of chills up Hank's arms. He nodded down at the thing on the table. "D'you know if it'd work?"

"Not for certain," Connor admitted. "Everything I'm saying is what I know to be possible based on my knowledge of what occurs between two androids, detail scans of the CCEMs, and android-human social dynamics. But maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

Connor rose and came halfway around the coffee table. Implicitly understanding what was being asked of him, Hank put the CCEM over his hand. "Okay, so I'm not sure if… I mean, fuck, there's a _lot_ of grim and depressing shit you probably don't know about me, Connor, and besides, I don't want to intrude either, you know, if…"

"Relax. I'm not going to _do_ it, Lieutenant. And I think you know that, but you're panicking on the off-chance you're wrong."

Hank swallowed, meeting Connor where he stood.

"I am just going to try something. I'm hardwired with an instinct for this sort of thing, like Markus. Please… don't hold. Just let me touch you."

It was the first time Hank could remember that he felt _pulled_ to adhere, as if Connor had centripetal force, as if it wasn't a decision but an inevitability as he reached out and let the second knuckles of his open hand brush against the chassis of Connor's outstretched fingers.

There was a rush of confusion, like waking up from a powerful dream. And like a dream, the memories faded just as fast, whilst leaving you aware of the fact that they had been there; a footprint of a large and life-laden beast. Hank knew the answer to his own question and spoke it aloud at the same time as Connor:

"It would work."


	9. The Threshold for Truth

**A/N:** A few things about this chapter! One - I realize there is a LOT of Josh erasure in this fandom, and being that the entire Jericho crew has been involved in this story so far except for Josh (who, as you'll remember, bowed out from trying to find Connor in the beginning), I just want to let y'all know that I DO have a little plan for him and there is a rhyme and reason to him not being around right now. It is minor - he's a minor character - but I'm not forgetting about him.

Also, and this is important: there is some discussion surrounding sexual assault and people's responses to it therein. Please understand that some of Connor's perspective is his limited understanding of the world and himself, and that he can be incredibly defensive, which frankly in this chapter may come across badly, specifically at the parts where they are talking about the 'freezing' response. Characters' thoughts and words do not equal the author's opinions; freezing up is a psychological and physiological thing that absolutely does occur in situations of crisis and Connor's failure to understand that due to his own issues doesn't make it less valid.

...

Chapter 10: The Threshold for Truth

 **APR 12TH,** 2039

AM **8:58** :11

 _RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

 _So, Hank climbed into bed with me the night before last._

 _Strange experience. It did occur to me that it was HIS bed and so he was within his rights to use it if he wanted. But that's generally not what's intended when someone amicably tells you they'll take the couch!_ :)

 _I'm not sure what to do about it, exactly. It must sound silly that I'm worried, but it's just that Hank is – decent. If he remembers that he did that, there is a high probability that it will bother him. I don't want it to bother him, but at the same time, I don't want to risk bringing it up, just in case he was intoxicated enough that he DOESN'T remember._

 _Do other people overthink such mishaps? Or is it just because of my circumstances right now? I know that if Hank remembers, part of the reason it would upset him is because he knows what happened. And I suppose it bothers me that everything lately feels like it's contextualized around that – even if I'm the one doing it._

 _I wish I could just make it go away, but quarantining doesn't work forever. If it did, I would be able to partition the zen garden off just as I tried to partition this incident off, before._

 _I realize it has only been a few days since my last encounter with Kamski, and if a human finds this log, that would seem like a disproportionately short amount of time to be expected to deal with this. But what a human wouldn't understand is that a few days is a long time for me. I'm an android, and a prototype. I can process so much more in the span of a handful of days – I should be able to cope with this. I don't understand what's happening to me that I can't._

 _Maybe I am, to some extent. It must say something that I'm on the Kamski case in as high a capacity as a civilian consultant can be on a case. It's mostly thanks to Hank – and I realize Hank is biased, but his bias was just as likely to make him protective of me as it was to make him advocate for me. I'm grateful (and pleasantly surprised) that he was inclined towards the latter. I plan to make good use of the opportunity._

 _Speaking of Hank, I've realized I have a particular fondness for him that I haven't felt for anyone else before. It's even something different, I think, than the camaraderie I eventually felt with him back in November. It's different, somehow._

 _It certainly is suspect that despite avoiding people for five months, as soon as my situation made a turn for the worse, I feel something for Hank that can only be categorized as 'needy.' Correlation doesn't necessarily equal causation, but still, that's somewhat pathetic, isn't it?_

 _Besides, Hank doesn't need this. He still has plenty of personal issues of his own to address; he doesn't need my problems on top of it. He hasn't asked me again about what happened, which is out of character for him when in the past he has been more than eager to put me on the spot, so that should tell me enough right there. Plus, I can tell he has been drinking more since I've been back. This is wearing on him, and it's only wearing on him because he's as caring as he is. Here I thought I would only be a danger to him physically, yet Amanda has posed very little threat so far, and instead I'm endangering his mental health. It's unfair to him._

 _I should focus on the case. Things will be better for both of us if I can just move on._

…

Yesterday, after their honest conversation about the CCEM and the possibility of memory-sharing, Connor had suggested Hank wear it for a day to see if they picked up on anything from each other in the course of doing ordinary life things. So, Hank decided to take it with them to meet with the Jericho crew.

As they drove there, Hank tried not to give himself away, but he couldn't help sneaking a glance every few minutes.

Connor's LED was cycling _continuously_ red.

Back at the house, he had deliberately downed a couple beers so that Connor would want to drive. Because his LED had been red there, too, and Hank wanted to be able to see it. It was just like when Connor had first arrived several nights ago right in the aftermath of… whatever the fuck. He still didn't know the details. Wasn't sure if he wanted to or needed to. Wasn't sure if Connor would ever tell him.

He suspected very much that now, just like a several nights ago, Connor was not aware of his LED cycling red. That Connor was, in fact, so lost in thought that he wasn't even taking a moment to ask himself if others noticed.

Connor's mood probably didn't have anything to do with Hank wearing the device. Sure, that was probably a little risky or something, but they had agreed yesterday that it was okay to have it on around their de facto team (although after today, they were going to secure it in a DPD vault when not in use, just as a precaution).

Hank had half an idea what it _could_ be about, though.

He tried to think his way out of it, but in the end, the guilt, shame, and worry were too much. "Okay, do you know?"

Connor snapped out of it and looked at him sidelong. "Know what, Lieutenant?"

Shit. He could never fucking tell with this one. Either Connor knew and was waiting to see if _he_ brought it up, or Connor didn't know and this was going to be opening a can of worms that maybe didn't need to be opened. If nothing else, honesty would mean he could stop wondering, so after a minute, he decided to go with that.

"I was drunk. Went to go to bed, forgot you were in there. Fuckin' thought you were Sumo, you know, like an idiot. Fell asleep crowded into ya for a couple hours, woke up, realized. Went back to the couch." There. It was out. "Look, I didn't _mean_ to. Didn't even know it was you."

"Oh." Mild, polite surprise. "That's all. I'm not upset, if that's what's bothering you. I'm not exactly pleased, given the circumstances, but I'm not upset."

Yup, he had just fucking told on himself. Great. At least Connor's reaction was nothing catastrophic. But if it wasn't about Hank getting in Connor's personal space or Hank being absolutely plastered or Hank (in Connor's mind) putting himself in danger, he was left with exactly as much explanation for Connor's perpetually red LED as he had a few minutes ago.

Hank had vowed that he would be there for Connor, and had meant that very specifically. _Be there when the levees break._ The idea was _not_ to be the one to break them. Dealing with this shit was – _had_ to be Connor's prerogative, not his.

But watching Connor's LED spin red over and over and over again – it literally hadn't been blue or even yellow since ten minutes before they left the house – Hank couldn't help himself.

"You, uh… got something on your mind?"

Connor spared him a brief glance, seemed to read him for a moment, and said, "No."

The reply lacked even a hint of defensiveness. It was downright _earnest._ And somehow, that was even more of a hard shut-down than defensiveness would have been. Thoroughly disarmed, Hank realized it stung. One single word, and yet it contained enough blunt sincerity to make it seem like a _joke_ that Connor would want to open up to him.

Welp, shoulda kept his fuckin' mouth shut after all. He knew better. If he had just gone with his gut like he usually did…

"Jesus, I need a drink…"

Connor ignored him – intentionally or just incidentally, Hank didn't know – and kept driving. Neither of them said a word until they arrived at the building and took the elevator up to the floor where Markus and his crew had their office suite.

North, Simon, and Eve greeted them and led them into the conference room.

"No Markus today?" Hank asked conversationally.

"He's always got a million things going on," North said. "He'll be around later."

Simon immediately closed the distance towards Connor with decidedly un-Simon-like urgency. "I've been waiting to talk to you," he said. "Connor… I'm sorry."

Some of the ice melted and Connor managed a genuine, if small, smile. "You did the right thing."

"No. You _trusted_ me with what you showed me. I know we aren't close, but on the few occasions we've crossed paths, there was always this sense that we were quietly in the same corner. And I feel like I jeopardized that. I'm sorry that I told people why you left."

"Perhaps at first, I was a little disturbed, yes," Connor said. "But I reconsidered. I thought I knew that disappearing was the right choice for everybody, but I also knew there was at least a slight chance I was wrong. I now realize, looking back, that sharing myself with you was a way of leaving that door unlocked. You chose to open it, and I'm glad you did."

From where he was standing, Hank could see Connor's LED. It still was still red, albeit at a slower, calmer roll than it had been before.

…Huh.

Was it just _odds_ that Connor was situated in precisely an orientation that _none_ of the androids could see his red LED, and yet Hank himself could? If not, that meant several things: that Connor was aware he was telegraphing his state now, that he was permitting Hank and only Hank to see it, and that he was, apparently, powerless to do anything about it. Shit. Was something wrong with his software? Was it the zen garden? If there was…

" _I can see you watching me,"_ Connor said over their connection _. "I will explain, but not now. Please pull North and Simon aside and tell them our plan."_

Hank hoped he wasn't showing any of his surprise on his face. It was still easy to forget he could have an android in his head, and when Connor was right there in the room with him, it only exacerbated the fact that they were not in fact communicating out loud. _"Got it, Connor."_

"Hey, uh… Simon, North, can we go down the hall for a sec? Got something I wanted to discuss." North and Simon, naturally, agreed, exchanging curious glances with one another. Hank held the door open for them.

It wasn't sophisticated, but it didn't have to be.

…

"I know a scenario like this when I see one," Eve said, facing the sidelight and watching the others retreat down the hallway outside the conference room. "You're the distraction. There's something they don't want to say in front of me."

Connor, sitting down in a swivel chair at one end of the table, dry-washed his hands in his lap. "You're putting yourself on the wrong side of the scenario, Eve. Hank is the distraction." He paused. "Well, I suppose that's not entirely true. He really _is_ telling them the plan. They'll tell you later, though. That's not what this is about."

Turning, Eve gazed down the long table at him. "What is it about?"

No backing out now. Following her shadow up the table with his eyes, Connor took a breath. "Me."

"You?" Looking dubious, Eve came around the side and sat down a few chairs away from him. "…I'm struggling to think of what you would want to talk to me in particular about. All things considered, Connor, we don't really know each other. All I know about you is that you hunted deviants, you don't anymore, and you're in some kind of trouble. And all you know about _me_ is…" She went quiet and thought about it for a moment. It wasn't a realization but a gradual turning of gears. "This case you and the lieutenant are working on, is it similar to what was going on at the Eden Club? Androids, being… used?"

"I'm not sure. It is a possibility."

It was still weird to even think about this thing, the way he would think about a case, and then snap it into context that it was himself he was thinking about.

Eve said, "Okay?" and gestured for him to continue.

"I, um." Connor couldn't look at her. "Listen, this isn't about the case. I'm sorry. It's difficult to talk about."

"If this is about the past, you don't need to worry. I thought Lieutenant Anderson would have already let you know that we cleared the air. I was here to begin with because I wanted to help them find you."

"Yeah, I know that, but it's not…" Connor pushed out a breath. Backpedaled slightly. "Thank you," he tried again. "I realize how easy it would be for you to have an uncharitable opinion of me." But once again, it wasn't about that, and now he felt bad that it wasn't. Selfish of him, wasn't it, wanting to talk to someone about his own problem when he had been part of the cause of hers. He didn't know the first thing about Eve. What was he doing, thinking this was appropriate?

It was difficult to see how anything worked from so far within himself. Like looking up a narrow tunnel.

Connor was about to abort this attempt at a discussion and make an excuse – for both their sakes – when something in Eve's face changed.

"Oh." Eve's eyes snapped over to his. "Connor," she started, her voice the shape of a question.

Connor shook his head. "I shouldn't have even considered bringing it up."

He saw understanding solidify in her expression and immediately wanted to explain it away or make an excuse. He thought about what she had called him a minute ago – a hunter. He waited for her to laugh, not necessarily in mockery, but in disbelief. He felt small.

What he was ultimately met with was a quiet, gentle question: "Did something happen to you while you were gone?"

Understanding. Understanding he didn't deserve and suddenly didn't want. "I should have been able to stop it. The catastrophic amount of system failure on my part…"

"Connor. Did someone _hurt_ you?"

He wanted to say no, no, of _course_ not, I'm fine, why would anybody be able to hurt me? He stopped himself, because the way she worded the question was perhaps the most digestible framing he had encountered so far, and if someone asked a different, more specific question, he may not be able to find the answer. But this much, this was veritably true, wasn't it? When he filtered through the surrounding circumstances and mistakes and everything else to get to the simplest form of the truth – someone had hurt him. Connor gazed up at her as all this clicked into place and said, "Yes."

"And you wanted to talk to me while you were here because you know someone has hurt me too." She inclined her head towards him when he looked away. "You… weren't able to get out of the situation, then?"

It was the question he had been afraid of, the question anyone would be wondering about a prototype investigative android with strong combat abilities, even if it was worded in the gentlest way possible. Connor gritted his teeth, stifling the excuses. "No."

"You know, not everyone is the same," she said, almost as if she could read his mind. "We all react different when someone is trying to hurt us. The other Traci, she fought immediately, and she ended up dead for it. Sometimes, when we're threatened, we just freeze up."

Connor scoffed before he could stop himself. He hadn't just frozen up; Kamski had done that too, taking over control of his body the same as Amanda did. Keeping him locked in place just the way he wanted him, occasionally manipulating his position to his own needs. The notion that Eve was relegating his actions (or lack thereof) to emotional shock was almost sickening. Emotional shock would have thrown Kamski through the nearest wall.

"You're not the person I want to talk to about this. As you aptly pointed out, we don't know each other." Connor stopped and heard himself. "That's not what I… Let me gather my thoughts for a moment."

Eve did, a silent pillar of compassion in an equally silent storm. Connor chastised himself. He truly _didn't_ want to talk to her about this. He knew who he wanted to talk to. What he wanted to talk to her about was… well, how to talk about it at all. How much truth could be processed out loud. How to begin.

"It wasn't fair of me to approach you about this," Connor said. "I just – I remember you. I remember the way you fought, the way you _knew_ what you wanted despite having experienced what you experienced and I – I don't understand that. You, and other models similar to you, have been through traumatic experiences far worse than what I could even reconstruct, and I just…"

"Connor, that's not the point. It's not a _contest,_ okay?"

Connor shook his head, not looking at her.

"Jesus." Eve crossed her arms. "Tough crowd."

"I'm sorry. I just – I hate this, okay?" He hated this from the bottom of his heart. "I hate it."

She extended a hand towards him. He flinched away, glaring at her.

"No. Why would I want to… _No._ "

"We don't have to go too deep. Just – you'll see that I understand. Just a little data, that's all."

Connor looked at her outstretched hand, then looked down at his own. The tips of his fingers were white. He wasn't even consciously thinking about it, nor making any decision, yet there it was, right there on his hand, betraying what he truly wanted and needed.

"It's okay," Eve said. "Just give it a few seconds. That's all."

…

"Connor and I are gonna stake out Kamski's property," Hank said. "We were hoping you guys would wanna help. He and I are gonna be the eyes on the condo that Kamski seems to be residing in and the other nearby condos. We want some eyes on the entrance to the neighborhood, too. Twofold for trying to learn something and alerting us to any danger."

"Why don't you let us get close to Kamski's place, and you and Connor stay near the entrance?" Simon suggested. "Kamski knows you two. He doesn't know us."

"Actually, that's exactly the reason. I don't like it either, but Connor figures if we get caught, we can act like we were there to see him. Not like that hasn't been the case in the past. _You_ two get caught and there's not really any explaining it away."

North looked in the direction of the conference room every few seconds. It was a corner room, and one side was a window-wall. There was no hearing Connor and Eve, but they were easy enough to see, and they looked… intense.

"It's personal," Hank said. "Everyone will be caught up with what's relevant to the case. That's what matters."

"I noticed what you did. There would be no need for anybody to catch anybody else up if you hadn't separated us."

"It's personal," Hank said, a little harder. "And it ain't really anybody else's business but Connor's."

"Shit, did she even want to do that?" North asked suspiciously.

He stole a glance in the direction of the conference room and saw that Connor and Eve had just begun to interface. They both looked uncomfortable about it. "Shit," he echoed. "Does _he?_ "

"Somehow I doubt she's endowed with his fancy interrogation tactics, Anderson." North looked at him, looked back at the others. "What the hell would they of all people need to interface about, anyway?"

…

Eve looked out the sidelight. Connor followed her gaze and saw Hank and North pointedly look away. "Are you worried he won't believe you?"

"No, I… he already knows _something_ happened. The problem is, there's something he's not telling me. I made the mistake of running a calculation. I _analyzed_ Hank, and what came back was an 84% chance that he is upset with me. Or that he will be."

"What would he be angry about?" Eve asked.

"What _wouldn't_ he be angry about?" Connor countered. "That he made himself available to me and I didn't accept his help. That I only came to him after something bad happened to me and I had no other choice. That I went to Kamski in the first place. That I _let_ something like this happen. How could I have been so stupid? I'm designed to see through manipulations, and yet I couldn't see through Kamski's. I already know it's my fault things got to that point. I just don't know if I can handle someone else saying that out loud. And Hank is abrasive. Of _course_ he would be upset about some of my decisions – he always is. We've always been honest with each other, so it should be fine, but…"

"No, it shouldn't be," Eve said. "Besides, he's a lieutenant, isn't he? It falls upon him to handle cases like yours with caution and dignity."

"But I don't want him to handle me like a case, either. I don't know _what_ I want. And that's not fair to _him_ , because people aren't perfect, and here I am _wanting_ him to be perfect even though I've failed both myself and him. I fail him every moment I continue to endanger his life by being part of it. I'm afraid to lose him even though I shouldn't even have him to begin with."

"I understand," said Eve quietly. "I know what it's like to be afraid to lose someone you love, regardless of the reason."

"I don't know that I…" Connor paused mid hand-gesture. "What I mean is…" What _did_ he mean?

Eve once again phrased it into something more digestible. "Do you trust him?"

"I do," Connor said, then stared sadly at the table. "I mean, I _want_ to."

"You were saying how you can remove things from their context. Maybe, Connor – maybe the reason Hank would be upset could be removed from its context, too, if you only knew what it was. Maybe if you took the gamble, it would all make _sense._ Or maybe it would end up being that small chance that he isn't upset at all. _Talk_ to him, Connor. Give him that chance to know those things about you. Your fears, your resentment, your shame. All of it."

"He's probably already angry with me. What if me saying something just opens the floodgates? What if—"

She shushed him gently. "Life is a game of what-if. The fact of the matter is, if you start putting up walls with him now, you could be just as doomed as you would be if he reacted poorly to what you have to say. Putting up walls could _be_ the thing he is upset about. Have you thought of that?"

Connor had not.

…

Hank up-nodded at Connor when he came back into view.

Connor smiled back, a little. The first glimpse of warmth he'd gotten from the man in hours.

They all said their goodbyes. Once again, Connor and Hank were silent for a spell, but this one was, thankfully, not nearly as long.

"You wanna tell me why you didn't want Eve to hear the plan?" Hank asked once they were in the car.

It was a deliberately misleading question, as he often posed to Connor. Back in November, it was usually to get a read or provoke a reaction, sometimes both, in his constant attempt to determine if there was actually life behind those brown eyes. Right now, it was both to ask Connor the real question and to give him an out if he needed it.

"Yes," Connor said, in the _exact_ same tone with which he had so sincerely said 'no' earlier. "Look – I'm going to explain. I just need a little time. I'm sorry I was rude to you earlier."

"Yeah, you fuckin' were," Hank heard himself say, then shut up. All of this was good and relieving and _enough_. It had to be enough right now. "But hey, Asshole is my first language, so I get it."

…

North drove them to New Center at dusk. Markus, who had finished whatever task he had been occupied with earlier in the day, was sitting in the front passenger seat. Hank was in the back, smushed between Simon on his left and Connor on his right. The latter had the window open. Hank knew he was the best option if someone had to be in Connor's personal space this much, but that didn't mean Connor liked it. Every ghost of contact, every shift of weight gave him a slightly deeper sense of Connor's glitch with physical touch, and the resulting anxiety was vicarious.

He had seen Connor redefine his own understanding of the world. Once upon a time, Connor had only been able to feel _contact_ , the nature of which made no difference to him other than knowing it was there and what its consequences were. Things had developed quickly from that point as Connor had discovered more and more instabilities in his software. Pain had been difficult at first, even mild pain, because it was so _new_ and sometimes minor injuries could produce disproportionate amounts of pain. Hank had helped cauterize a wound once, back in November. The healing nature of it made it easier for Connor. Something in him filed that pain away as _permissible._

Now there was half a year of sensations and emotions that Connor had experienced whilst feeling like he was a danger to everyone. Half a year of concepts like proximity and closeness likely being filed under _impermissible._ And at least one very strong incident of concepts like touch and intimacy being filed under _impermissible._ Hank wondered if it was as much of a glitch as Connor thought it was.

Hank hated himself for wanting to know things like _how bad_ it was and what exactly had happened. Connor's behavior over the last several days should have said more than enough about how bad, and what happened was none of Hank's fucking business. It was just… he felt fucking clueless. If he knew more, maybe he would have a better idea of what to say or do – or what _not_ to say or do.

He could, if nothing else, practically feel the anxiety rolling off Connor's rigid form as they pulled into the neighborhood. He wondered if Connor was having second thoughts about being the ones to get close to Kamski's place.

"You okay?"

Connor shot a glare at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, Hank."

Maybe not the best thing to ask in a car full of people. It had just come out. But he could dilute it a little. "How 'bout you guys, everybody good?"

"Why wouldn't we be? We're just taking a look." Markus's voice was light. He gestured out the window. "We're almost to the place. I'll come find you if we see anything up front, okay?"

North pulled over in a safe, discreet area. There was a small park behind the condos across the street from Kamski's, tucked close to one of the backyards. Connor and Hank hopped out and, after muted exchanges of caution and good luck, were on their way.

"This may be the one time that I can communicate wirelessly with a _human_ yet not an android," Connor noted as they walked into the gazebo and sat down.

"Right. Markus is gonna have to run fast if North and Simon see anything we need to know about. Talk about doing things the old-fashioned way. There's absolutely _no_ signal here, not even for fuckin' police radios. No way this shit's legal."

"Frankly, I almost suggested that our party be split differently for that reason. If you had gone with them and Markus had gone with me, for instance, you and I – and thus, both parties – would be able to communicate with each other."

"I thought the same. Didn't think I should suggest it, though."

"I'm glad you didn't," Connor confessed. "I don't think I could come back here with anyone but you."

"Speaking of which, can I ask you a personal question, Connor?"

Connor made a face. "I now understand why you don't like that. But yes, you can."

"How the hell has your LED been blue this whole time? I can tell you're uncomfortable."

"It's much easier to influence the color of my LED when I'm accessing 100% of my operating power. If you're wondering, I changed that as soon as we entered the neighborhood. As much as I've come to dislike this place, I at least know you are safe with me here, since Cyberlife has no access to me."

"Huh. That mean you can construct things outta clues in the environment like you did before? That tied to power usage?"

"Yes," Connor replied. "And I have been. Kamski hasn't left a stone unturned. There are no signs of anyone having been here recently, no suspicious activity. That may sound discouraging, but the extent of it makes it a sign of illicit activity on its own. It's _too_ clean."

They could see Kamski's condo through a gap between two other condos. There didn't appear to be any activity there, either. "If there were androids in some of these houses," Hank said carefully, "would their memories be compromised at all due to the lack of a cloud, here?"

"Not at all," Connor replied, and Hank wondered if Connor was aware of the far more personal question he had also just answered. "Memories are individual, like offline data, so to speak. But if Kamski has taken as many precautions as he has, it's likely that any androids here would have their memory wiped frequently like the ones in the Eden Club."

"So, probing for evidence is probably out."

Connor shrugged. "It was an idea worth mentioning."

"Maybe it still is," Hank realized. "If we can _get_ a warrant, we could do the same thing here that we did there. Maybe they would still remember something that could help us."

"If you'll recall," Connor's voice had a streak of darkness, "the Eden Club androids were programmed to be very _willing_. They were not difficult to probe. Interfacing with any androids here, however… well, if they're deviants, they won't be willing. If they're machines, Kamski will have programmed them not to share anything, thus, also unwilling. To me, that makes memory probing a little more complicated. I'm not sure if I'm willing to take those measures."

Hank realized Connor hadn't taken those measures back in November, either, when he could avoid it. Connor had threatened to probe Carlos Ortiz's android, but the android had become afraid, and so Connor had never actually _done_ it despite it being the easiest route to take. There were other instances Hank could think of where a memory probe would have proven useful, too, but Connor had largely avoided it, resorting to more traditional measures of force to get what he wanted.

"Being an unwilling participant in a memory probe is a profoundly uncomfortable experience for androids," Connor said, almost as if he was reading Hank's mind. "Most androids aren't like me, Hank. There aren't many other models who _can_ force interfacing. Imagine the privacy risks if any android could do such a thing."

Hank found himself grinning. "Y'know the deviant in the Stratford Tower that almost killed ya? He'd have seen something back then, right?"

"Obviously. Why?"

"Memory probing is off-limits, but taking an android's thirium pump out of its chest isn't?"

To his surprise, Connor grinned back. "Necessary violence falls within my moral limitations, Lieutenant."

Hank caught a glint of something and looked down. Connor was flipping a quarter back and forth across his knuckles idly. For some reason, in that moment, he looked so very _Connor_ , and it felt like nothing in the world had changed since that day at the chicken feed.

"You wouldn't tell me why you thought it was a good idea to wear the CCEM with you here," Connor noted. "To my knowledge, he doesn't know it was taken from him. I feel as though you may be tempting fate."

Hank had a coat and gloves on, completely covering the CCEM mesh on his left wrist. He knew Connor could see this as well as he could, and didn't bother pointing it out. "We learned it was human-android only, not android-android or human-human. There shouldn't be any way for Kamski to know."

"I realize that. I'm asking what made you deem 'shouldn't be' a reasonable amount of risk to take."

It sounded sharp, admonishing, but there was a decent chance Connor was just asking him a damn question, so he answered it. "Originally, I figured I could try to reach out with it. See if there were any other androids in the area. But I forgot that when me and Markus got this thing, Chloe asked what model. There's specific ones and this one's basically meant for you. Still… given the discreet nature of what we're doing, it didn't seem like a _bad_ idea for us to be able to talk in our heads."

"Most biocomponents aren't _only_ compatible with one model, even if they're made for that model," Connor said. "In the DPD evidence room, I replaced a biocomponent with a part from a different android model in my attempt to locate Jericho. The CCEM isn't quite the same as a biocomponent, but it's close. It may function similarly."

"If it does, I might startle our friends."

"There's a high probability that you would startle Markus in particular. He's an RK model too. That's not to say that other models wouldn't pick up on it; just that he's particularly likely to. I don't think you should do anything right now, though. We're already here. We might as well wait and see if anything happens before we risk making ourselves known."

"Would it leave any kinda signature in an android's system?" Hank asked. "Like, if I used it to try and make a fuss, would anyone be able to tell other than that android?"

The coin rolled off the edge of Connor's pinky knuckle and clattered to the floor of the gazebo. Hank froze. Connor's LED flickered yellow out of the corner of his eye. He didn't say a damn word about it, because he could tell immediately that Connor was _listening._

After a few seconds, Hank heard it too. "Footsteps. Round the front of that condo, maybe."

"Kamski's footsteps."

"Shit, you can _tell_?"

"I know more about that man than I ever wanted to know."

Hank rose. "I'll handle this."

Connor reached out and locked a hand around Hank's wrist like a vice. "He will come around the corner of that condo before you could get there at a dead sprint. Hank, he is _going_ to see us."

" _Hide_ , then, moron!"

He couldn't help but admire the absolutely fucking disgusted look on Connor's face at the suggestion. "I came here because I have a job to do." Connor knelt down and picked up his coin. "We talked about what we would do in this situation."

"Barely!"

"Hank—"

"Connor," Hank lowered his voice. "No. You're not reacting like this because I can't handle this situation, okay, you're reacting like this because you feel like you got something to prove." To whom, Hank wasn't sure.

They were tucked well away, but Kamski was making no pretense about coming around the other side of the condo. They'd be lucky to have more than another ten seconds. And here was Connor, looking him in the eye and saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

It was almost insulting. Hank had to fight to keep his temper. "You do," he said very evenly, "and this is not the time or place, Connor. This is not how—"

"Captain Fowler wants me here to assess the—"

"Yeah, under _my orders!_ " Hank snapped. "Put yourself in standby or at least pretend you are. I'll make your excuses."

The footsteps were closer; almost rounding the corner.

Connor lost some of his fire. He looked outright betrayed. Hank couldn't stand it. "Hank, please. I—"

"I said no. Okay? It's not a fucking discussion." He gritted his teeth. "For fuck's sake, Connor, I need you to listen to me."

All traces of emotion faded from Connor's face as he ducked his head, looking somewhere past Hank's shoulder. "Okay."

By the time Kamski rounded the corner, putting them in his line of sight, Connor was rigid on the bench, hands resting on his legs, eyes closed, LED faded. Hank wondered if he had actually gone into standby it or if he was just pretending. At the very least, he was visibly disqualified from being engaged by Elijah Kamski, and if that wasn't _the fucking point here,_ Hank didn't know what was.

"Mr. Kamski," Hank said. "Didn't expect you to wander this way. Coincidence, or surveillance?"

Kamski reached out to shake Hank's outstretched hand. Hank made sure to squeeze good and hard. "Surveillance, of course. I've always been a private person. I'm sure you understand."

"Someone like you, I'd've accepted you have surveillance just 'cause you fucking _can._ "

"Believe it or not, Lieutenant, I try not to be too indulgent."

"Sounds like bullshit to me, sir."

"You're as pleasant as always. I would offer you a drink if we weren't out here."

Hank could've tried to convince himself that he didn't know _for sure,_ because Connor hadn't confirmed it _for sure,_ but he'd said enough, and Hank knew Kamski was responsible no matter how much he wished he didn't right then.

And sure, he wanted to wring Kamski's neck. But it was because of Connor alone that they were here investigating, and what Connor wanted was the one thing that trumped what Kamski deserved.

Kamski leaned to peer around Hank. "Oh."

Hank shifted his weight. "Quick standby. He's been keeping his power usage real low, so he needs to recharge a bit."

"Smart of him," Kamski commented. "With what he's been experiencing, he could hurt someone if he's not careful. You should watch your back, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, shouldn't we all." Hank tilted his head back. "Listen, you just said you're a private person, so I'm hoping it won't bug you too much that I know exactly what's been going on with Connor here."

Hank stopped there and waited a beat. Kamski's face remained perfectly relaxed and pleasant.

" _No evidence of surprise or nervousness in his voice,"_ came Connor's voice in his head, as calm and practical as ever over the CCEM, and Hank had to force himself not to flip out right there. _"He still doesn't know that I know. A net positive."_

"Of course you do. I understand you two are… close, so it stands to reason that he would explain _why_ precisely he was spending so much time on my property." Kamski emphasized the 'my property' part before stepping closer, hands laced behind his back. "Is it too quiet around here for you, Lieutenant? Set off some alarm bells? I suppose you must have jumped on an excuse to see what I might be hiding."

" _So he does know we're on to_ that _much,"_ Connor said in Hank's head. _"And he's defensive, even if mildly. That means there could be a leak, somewhere, about what exactly is taking place here."_

Jesus, Hank needed Connor to shut the fuck up before Hank gave them both away.

"Sounds like honest-to-God paranoia, sir. I'm not seeing anything to worry about here. They just sent us because we got a tip about the area and Connor figured he'd make things easy for ya by having us come instead of somebody else."

Kamski looked… not _too_ suspicious, but still suspicious, and Hank wondered again what had gone on between them before the thing Connor wasn't supposed to know about. Connor tended to remain diplomatic even towards people he didn't like, so for Kamski to look like he _knew_ that Connor disliked him… well, it was surprising. Not unwelcome, though.

"Well," Kamski murmured. "Tell Connor I said hello."

"Tell him yourself. Fucker can probably hear you even in standby."

That broke some of the tension, or so Hank thought, until Kamski's laughter went on for just long enough to sound forced.

Hank laughed with him. They laughed together like it was fucking hilarious.

Several minutes later, Hank and Connor walked wordlessly through the park, opposite the condos and back towards the street.

"I, uh," Hank started. He wasn't sure if they were supposed to talk about what the fuck had just happened or not, so he went for something a little more palatable for now. "I used the CCEM to try and contact any other androids in the area."

Connor was unreadable. "And?"

"And… it feels like I'm running into a wall. If there _weren't_ other androids here, I don't feel like there'd be a wall to run into, you know? I could be wrong. I'm still getting to know this thing."

"The device _does_ seem to be intuitive for humans, so if you think an android may be receiving your signal, you should trust that."

"Huh. Let's, ah… let's walk slow then. Give 'em a chance to respond, if they're here." Hank could feel the tense energy radiating off Connor. "So, uh, back there."

"I suppose it went about as well as it could have gone." Connor still didn't look at him, but his tone was a note higher when he spoke again: "Hank, is it cold out?"

"Ah fuck, is it your garden?"

"Oh. No, it's not that. I guess I'm just… cold."

Hank looked over at him. "You okay?"

Ignoring the question, Connor said, "Before I left this place the first time, I took a very long shower."

Hank knew better than to stumble over Connor's sudden bluntness, but he stumbled anyway.

Thankfully, Connor either didn't notice or didn't care. "It was when I realized that almost any sensation, regardless of how it registered before, was now registering as something negative. Threatening. It's not as intense now as it was then, but it's… still there." Connor still didn't meet his eyes. "I say I'm cold, and yet I can't even put on a blanket without errors popping up in my HUD that tell me that it's – wrong. That something is wrong."

Hank had to admit, he actually _hadn't_ been sure if androids would react to something like that quite so similarly to most humans. But Connor saying he had showered – if Connor _was_ human, he'd have been tempted to chastise him for washing away evidence, if there was any. Jesus. He still didn't know _that much_ but the fact that Connor had felt the need to shower seemed to imply a lot.

As it was, there was no point pushing it. Connor was a detective android. It wasn't like the procedures for reporting would have eluded his consideration. Connor had simply decided against it. Hank wondered if that meant Connor had thought of the same thing Hank had; the thing he couldn't yet say in Fowler's office. If Connor had dared to let himself think of it.

"You gonna tell me how it makes sense that Kamski wouldn't know that _you_ know?"

"The garden," Connor said. "There is an offline version of it built into the CCEM. He triggered it before…" Connor cleared his throat. "Normally, when I go there, I can't see anything else. But I've gotten very good at fighting back against the zen garden the past few months. There was a period of a few weeks where I only ever saw it in my peripheral vision. And when Kamski… did what he did… the zen garden was there. There was nothing I could do to stop it that time. But I could see and hear and feel _through_ it."

It was Hank who couldn't meet Connor's eyes now, beginning to feel like he had bitten off more than he could chew by wanting to know more. Connor was the emotional equivalent of a security vault sometimes, but when he did open up, it was point-blank. "And he didn't know that?"

"No," Connor said. "What I'm doing to defend myself against Cyberlife – it's not something an android should be able to do, even a deviant. There would be no reason for the possibility to even cross his radar." He shook his head. "I _wish_ he was right. I wish there was no way for me to have been present for what happened."

"Most of us have something we wish we could change," Hank said. "You know… I'm sorry, Connor."

Connor replied exactly as Hank suspected he would. "For what? You did nothing wrong."

"For – everything. For whatever bullshit happened in this place. I wish I'd…" Speaking of having something he wished he could change. "I wish I'd gotten off my ass a little sooner. Wish I'd been as much of a pain in the ass to you these last few months as I know you'd've been to me if the situation was reversed."

"You did nothing wrong, Hank," Connor said again, sounding exasperated.

"If I had, would you tell me?"

Connor stopped and turned to him. His brows pinched together. "I would," he said. "If you'd like an example: why did you pull rank on me back there?"

Should've seen that coming. "You know why."

"Maybe I don't." Connor shrugged, and his smile was altogether unhappy. "Maybe I don't, Hank. Maybe I need to hear it."

"If you're saying it like that, I think you already know the answer." Hank kept walking. "Let's get outta here. Maybe Markus and the others had better luck."

He waited for Connor to keep pace with him again. Connor did not. "Hank?"

Hank turned around again. Connor looked utterly alone standing there in the grass, Kamski's property an indifferent backdrop behind him.

"I don't know what to do," Connor said quietly. "I… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

There was no supposed to, Hank wanted to say. There wasn't a goddamn tutorial on trauma. There wasn't one way to deal with this shit. But that all sounded about as helpful as _YOU pick the restaurant_ in that it accomplished fucking nothing for someone who'd never been to the town, someone who'd never been down these shitty pocked roads to even know what their choices were.

You couldn't choose from a blank list.

"Oh, Connor." Hank crossed most of the distance, then stopped, aware of the barrier in between them, the barrier that Connor had not put there, had not asked for, but was Connor's nonetheless.

Connor's jaw worked and he shook his head in tiny little motions, trying to say _something_. What on God's green earth that might be, Hank couldn't begin to fathom, but after a few seconds watching the twitch in Connor's face and the shine in his eyes, it was clear that if anything was going to come, it was not words.

Fuck it. Sometimes all you could do was go with the pull.

"Don't," Connor said, looking for all the world like it was the most painful thing he had ever said in his life.

He must have caught the look in Hank's eyes. Hank stopped a hair's breadth from taking Connor in his arms. "Connor…"

"We – I can't. Not here. If he isn't already watching from somewhere, then the cameras…" Connor ripped his gaze away from Hank. "I don't need Elijah Kamski to see me standing out here looking pitiful. Besides, you were right." Connor drew his thumb and pointer finger together across his closed eyes. "Here isn't the time or place. Let's just – let's just go."

So they went.

The next few minutes passed in silence as they walked.

Things calmed down. Hank tried again to reach out with the CCEM, gently; felt a touch of feedback as Connor received it, swore he got a sense of someone else receiving it, too, but still no response. Maybe they didn't trust it. Or maybe he was just imagining things.

The sense of direction returned to Connor's step, and the silence between them seemed to get a little lighter. They were okay. Connor was maybe not okay, but _they_ were, between the two of them, for now, and that counted for something.

They almost made it to the car, drawing close to the edge of the privacy bubble, where the world would come back online. Connor stopped for a second time.

The skin on his right hand was gone.

"Connor?"

Connor gazed at him, then turned and looked back at where they had walked, facing the neighborhood. "I just realized something."

Hank looked about, trying to figure out what Connor would have realized just now. "Uh… okay? You gonna explain?"

"Let's go back to the car. We'll be safe there, and if anything happens, North will be able to get all of us out of here quickly. There is one little thing I'd like to try before we leave. That is," Connor paused meaningfully, "if my lieutenant thinks it's a good idea."

Hank turned back to him. He did so just in time to catch the makings of a slight, private smile on Connor's face.

...

 **A/N:** I'm just asking because I've already gotten behind over here and also because I noticed a few people migrated to my AO3 uploading of this story; do y'all want me to keep updating this here, or would it be cool if I just kept it to AO3? It's funny, I hated that site at first but now I've come to find it a lot easier, and I hang out over there a lot more than I do here. But if people prefer FFN I'm totally fine with continuing to update here too! I just need to get back on track with it, if I'm going to.


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